To Live Again
by Joyful Noise 44
Summary: Thought to be well past her prime, India Wilkes is in no position to go looking for love. Love, however, may find her in the most unlikely of places. Reviews always appreciated.
1. India

**Author's Note: Here it is, my first Gone With the Wind FanFiction! And I've chosen the most unlikely heroine for my story, too...Miss India Wilkes. I want to say a big "thank you" to my new friend, Tipperose, for all her encouragement and advice. I hope I won't disappoint you!**

**This fiction in based solely on the movie version of Gone With the Wind. (I've read the book twice, but I've committed the entire movie to memory, so I thought I should stick with the movie version.) I'd appreciate your feedback about how you feel about the story. Thank you and happy reading!**

* * *

_India_

India Wilkes was not beautiful, and could never be mistaken as such. In fact, she was so ordinarily unremarkable that she often blended into the background of a room, completely undetected by those around her. India's only hope for being noticed was to shoot off her mouth, which she often did much to the dismay of her family and acquaintances. She had no real friends to speak of, so she was completely free to gossip about whomever she pleased, unafraid of offending anyone who wasn't her own kin. She regarded her own blood with a bit more respect, although spreading rumors about them wasn't beneath her, either.

It was a trait she'd begun to loathe, especially after the incident on Ashley's birthday. She'd sincerely hurt Melanie, the closest thing to a friend she'd ever had; and completely infuriated her brother, the only living immediate relative who remained. It was never India's intention to harm them. Her only target had been that horrid Scarlett. No matter how many beaux or husbands she'd had, Scarlett insisted on pursuing Ashley like a woman possessed, regardless of how many times he pushed her away. India had only wanted to make Melanie see how truly evil that Scarlett was. But Melanie, it seemed, had been oblivious to the end. Now she was gone. Now she was with Charles.

_Charles_. The mere mention of his name made India's heart ache. How she'd adored Charles! He was boyish and soft-spoken, gentle and kind, and India had loved him immensely. She fondly remembered his large blue eyes, his wide, white smile, and his wavy, golden hair. Her father had made no bones about the fact that she was to marry him, and India had spent most of her adolescence dreaming of the day she would become Mrs. Charles Hamilton. The day of the barbeque had changed everything. She'd lost him forever. Lost to Scarlett O'Hara and then to the war, a life snubbed out so simply.

India had sworn she'd never stop loving Charles and she was true to her word. She mourned him as if _she_ were the widow instead of that Scarlett. She loved him more than Scarlett did, after all. She had resigned herself to never love again and was content to live vicariously through the social lives of others. She was ashamed to admit it, but she felt a sense akin to satisfaction when she heard that Frank Kennedy had died. Suellen would face the same hurt and grief that India had felt…and the same spite for that Scarlett. They would both mourn the suitors Scarlett had killed, and live for the day when Scarlett got what was coming to her.

But when she heard whispers saying that Scarlett had miscarried a baby, India hadn't felt any sense of happiness or accomplishment. And when she learned that Bonnie Butler was dead, India felt sick. Could it be that all her wishes of harm toward Scarlett had manifested in the deaths of Scarlett's children? Soon Melanie, Scarlett's one and only defender, was dead, too, and India had gone from guilt to grieving. India never admitted to feeling guilty, nor did she alter her haughty, condescending appearance in public. But deep down, India resolved to let bygones be bygones. She wanted to move on with her life.

Now that Melanie was gone, India had taken it upon herself to care for Ashley and Beau. Mellie had run that house alone without complaint, for they could not afford to hire Negroes in Atlanta. So India was forced to utilize the few domestic skills she had learned at Twelve Oaks by watching the house workers at their labors. She cooked, cleaned and mended their clothes, and she tended to Beau while Ashley worked at the mill. She adored the little boy because he reminded her so much of a young Ashley before the war. War had altered Ashley, just as it had altered everyone else, but India saw the biggest change in her brother. His gray eyes had gone from dreamy and contemplative to sad and reflective. His face constantly looked pale and sunken in. He seldom smiled, especially now that Mellie was dead.

India spent her weekends with Aunt Pittypat, who often entertained ladies such as Mrs. Merriweather and Mrs. Meade. India tried to enjoy the time spent in sewing circles and book readings, but she could not avoid the scrutinizing looks and pitying comments from the old biddies. Oh, she knew they meant no harm. She knew they tried to protect her from hearing them by sending her to answer the door or bring a pitcher of lemonade, but their hearing deficits were becoming more and more profound, so she always heard every word of their conversations.

"She isn't too old, you know, Pitty."

"And attractive! Why, if she'd try a bit harder to improve her appearance…"

"I'm afraid she won't hear of it, ladies. India insists on helping Ashley to raise Beau. She has been so good since we lost our Melanie…"

She returned to the circle unabashed, pretending she'd never heard the old ladies discussing her as if she were a cow on the auction block. She'd question Mrs. Merriweather for news on Maybelle, and inquire of Mrs. Meade about the good doctor's health and medical practice. She'd boast about Beau a little while and then excuse herself to the veranda. She'd read a little or simply drink in the peace and quiet there until dinner, after which she'd kiss Aunt Pitty and hurry to her bedroom. After undressing and putting on her nightgown, she'd fumble through her dresser until she found a worn photograph, placed lovingly inside her Bible. The only remembrance she had now, except for her own memories. Charles. Her Charles.

She supposed it silly to pine away over a man she'd never kissed. In all honesty she had very few memories of moments alone with Charles. Of course they'd played together as children, when nothing like romance or war mattered to either of them. Charles had been a shy child, and very submissive to India's wishes. Many of their times together involved India, Charles and Melanie, sweet, loving Melanie, playing tea party beneath one of the many shady oak trees at her father's plantation. Charles and Melanie's later visits to Twelve Oaks were marked with carriage rides and barbeques and dances. Charles always asked India to dance, and smiled down kindly as they twirled to the music. When the song ended, he'd offered his arm and led her around proudly. "I shall miss you, Cousin India," he'd say as he boarded the train at Jonesboro, his face flushing with shyness and embarrassment. India remembered crying the whole way home to Twelve Oaks, longing for the time that Charles would return, asking her father for her hand in marriage.

His last visit to Twelve Oaks was as a changed man. He was not the same sweet Charles he'd been before. Oh, he'd said all the right things and smiled as he greeted her. But once he spotted Scarlett O'Hara at the barbeque, it was as if India had never existed. He'd forgotten their understanding and dashed her hopes in one fell swoop. India sighed and pressed the picture to her chest, as she did every night. Then, she placed it back into her Bible (at Psalm 23) and laid down to rest. She was convinced that if Charles could do it over again, he would choose her. He must have known that Scarlett O'Hara never loved him. The old hens could speculate all they wanted; India Wilkes would never love another man. Not the way she loved Charles.


	2. Morning Messes

**Author's Note: A big thank you to everyone who reviewed Chapter One. The reviews really encourage me to keep writing, even when it gets hard. I had a difficult time pulling Chapter Two together, but ultimately, I'm very pleased with it. I hope my readers will be, too. Thank you for reading.**

* * *

_Morning Messes_

India woke and stretched lazily as long beams of white sunlight shone through the lace curtains and fell in long beams across the hardwood floor. The city outside was already awake and in motion; she heard the sound of horses' hooves clopping against the ground and, somewhere in the distance, the sound of a hammer knocking nails into a piece of wood. She rose from her bed and dressed slowly, for she was not eager to start her day. There was nothing to look forward to or anticipate with any excitement. She sighed as she brushed her hair and carefully pinned it up.

Upon arriving downstairs she found Aunt Pittypat eating a hearty breakfast. "Good morning, Auntie," India greeted with as much cheer as she could muster. She kissed her aunt's cheek softly.

"Oh, good morning, India dear." Aunt Pitty dabbed the corners of her mouth with a napkin and gestured for India to sit beside her. "Some breakfast?"

"No, nothing Auntie, thank you. Except perhaps some coffee."

"Oh, of course. Uncle Peter! Miss India would like some coffee, please." The women sat in silence until Uncle Peter's wife, Martha, emerged from the other room carrying the silver tea service on a tray.

"Miz Hamilton, Peter ain' gon' be 'round today," Martha announced as she poured India's coffee. "Hiz back givin' him trouble again. Po' thang can' get outta bed even."

"Oh, dear!" Aunt Pitty's fat face reddened, her eyes darted back and forth worriedly. "Whatever shall I do without Uncle Peter?!"

_She'd better start thinking about it,_ India thought, covering a sardonic smile. _Uncle Peter is certainly getting on in years. Poor woman depends on him as if the man did her very breathing for her._ "Everything's going to be all right, Aunt Pitty," she consoled aloud, patting her aunt's pudgy hand. "Martha is here. She can manage both the cooking and receiving visitors today."

"Yes, yes." Aunt Pitty relaxed a bit and fanned herself with her hand. "Martha, my medicine."

"Yes'm." Martha left the room to retrieve the pills but returned empty handed. "Ain't no mo' medicine in that lil' bottle, Miz Hamilton."

Aunt Pitty directly flew into a panic, fanning and shaking nervously. India rolled her eyes as Martha, anticipating disaster, darted to retrieve Aunt Pitty's smelling salts from her reticule. She held them under her nose quickly, before Aunt Pitty could faint or even threaten to faint. "Oh, ohhhh!" Aunt Pittypat gasped as she straightened up in her chair and signaled for Martha to fan her. "I just don't know what to do. I can't ask Martha to fetch my pills for me…what if someone calls while she's gone? And I have to have my pills, I just have to! I don't know what would happen if I didn't get them. Why, I could be dead by tomorrow morning!"

India understood her aunt's subtle hint and rose to get her bonnet before heading out into the morning sunlight. "I'll go see Dr. Meade about your medicine, Auntie," India reassured her, tired of her aunt's overactive imagination and counterfeit nervous condition. What a fuss over a tiny bottle of sugar pills! Yes, India was fully aware that Dr. Meade had prescribed nothing that aided Pittypat's nerves. Instead he had eased her mind with a recommendation for some sugar capsules. Of course, Aunt Pitty swore the medicine was a life saver, and that Dr. Meade was a medical genius. "Ashley can wait a few extra minutes before leaving for the mill." India took the small brown basket from the hall tree and left before Aunt Pitty could feign protest.

* * *

"Well, India!" Dr. Meade exclaimed, wiping his hands on a handkerchief before reaching to shake her hand politely. "What brings you in today? Everything all right?"

"Oh, fine, Dr. Meade, fine. Actually I'm on an errand for my Aunt Pitty. She's run out of her medicine. She wondered if you might write her another prescription."

"Why, of course," Dr. Meade replied with a knowing smile. "I'll get it for you right away."

India settled into an uncomfortable wooden chair, folding her hands in her lap. She glanced around the room, taking notice of a thin layer of dust coating the books on a nearby shelf. _Reminds me of myself,_ she mused, _just sitting around collecting dust until somebody needs my help; has an errand for me to run or a job for me to do. I don't know how I've suddenly become so sedentary, so unnecessary._

Soon Dr. Meade returned with the prescription in hand, and India thanked him civilly before stepping out of the office and back into the sunshine. She adjusted her bonnet and walked across the street to the apothecary. Mr. Greer, the kind, balding man behind the counter, filled the prescription immediately and handed it to India with a hearty smile. India felt a bit envious of his happiness; of the happiness of every smiling person she passed along the road back to Aunt Pitty's. It seemed as if they all had some kind of secret…something to hold onto that made them happy despite the dull errands and jobs at which they worked. India supposed all she had to look forward to was days full of sewing circles and literary clubs, church socials and singings. The life of an old maid; that's all she had to look forward to.

* * *

"Good morning, Ashley," India forced another smile as she entered the Wilkes' home, which seemed dark all the time now that Melanie was gone. "I'm so sorry I'm late, but I had to run an errand for Aunt Pitty."

"Oh, it's quite all right, India," Ashley replied amid puffs on the pipe between his teeth. He sat cross-legged in a chair, reading a newspaper through wire-rimmed half-moon shaped glasses at the end of his nose. When had Ashley become an old man? India had never seen him look so elderly before. But then they'd both aged before their time, or so it seemed.

"Have you eaten anything? I'm sure Beau will want something. Is he still asleep?"

"Yes. I didn't have the heart to wake him today. He got so little sleep last night."

"Oh, Ashley…"

"More dreams of his mother. They must be very real to him. He wakes expecting to find her in our bedroom, and he's so disappointed when she isn't there," Ashley stared blankly at the wall before him as he spoke. "It's as if I have to break his heart all over again, every night."

"Ashley, I'm sorry…"

"So am I, dear, so am I. I wish I knew what to say to him, how to help him. Melanie was everything to him, just as she was to me. I cannot help him because I cannot help myself. I can't seem to do anything the way Melanie did," then half-smirking, "Beau reminds me of that often. It's been very difficult for me, for both of us, to learn how to live without her."

India blinked away the tears that sprung into her eyes with Ashley's tortured admissions. They remained silent for several minutes, the ticking of the nearby grandfather clock the only sound they heard. India concentrated on the sound pensively. Funny how you never heard certain sounds until the rest of the room was silent; almost the same way you never really appreciated your loved ones until they were gone. She regained control of her thoughts, sniffed nobly and went directly into the kitchen to make breakfast.

"Ashley, your pantry is bare!" India announced from the kitchen.

Ashley soon appeared in the doorway, still wearing his glasses but holding the pipe in one hand, newspaper in the other. "Oh, India, I _am_ sorry. Up until last week, the ladies from the church had been sending over covered dishes. I suppose I…just hadn't thought about doing the shopping." He stared hard at the dark, wood floor, his face slightly reddened with embarrassment.

India shrugged as she closed the pantry door, attempting to seem unabashed by her brother's confession. After all, a man _wouldn't_ know much about shopping, would he? Of course Melanie had done it all, and Ashley never had to worry about it before now. "Can you be a bit late for work today? You could stay home with Beau while I get a few things from the general store…"

"No, India, I couldn't have it. I'll drop a few things by before I go to the mill…"

"But Ashley, you'd be going all the way downtown, bringing the parcels back here, then turning right around and going back to the mill. No, let me go. It won't take me long."

"But India it's my responsibility to provide for Beau. I won't have you…"

"I don't want to hear another word about it. Yours is the first face Beau should see when he wakes up. He has to adjust to living alone with you, Ashley. Now, I'm going to the store for a few things. I'll be back shortly." India didn't wait for Ashley to respond. Instead, she took her bonnet from a table in the entranceway and stepped again into the morning sunshine. She had done the right thing for little Beau and for Ashley, but she dreaded returning to town; being forced to smile back at all the cheerful people surrounding her, pretending to be happy when they shared their personal triumphs or special family news. She herself was no longer happy, and she probably never would be again.

* * *

India shuffled down the red clay streets at an excruciatingly slow pace. She knew that Ashley had to get to the mill. He was probably pacing back and forth through the parlor right now, glancing at his gold pocket watch every minute or two, wondering how long it could possibly take to purchase a few groceries. However, India had made two trips into town before ten o'clock, and the new black boots she wore had not been properly broken in before she began these excursions. Her feet felt as if they were on fire, aching more with every step she took. She was certain the delivery boy would have the groceries to Ashley's before she could arrive there; she had to hurry.

She finally stopped in front of the Grand Hotel and knelt down to loosen her bootstraps. She absolutely couldn't bear to walk another step. And while maybe it wasn't considered acceptable to prance around Atlanta with untied boots, India couldn't think of any better way to get back to Ashley's house without going completely barefoot.

_THUD_. A dull blow struck her head, sending India sprawling into the street face-first. She reacted instantly, jumping to her feet (completely disregarding the pain she felt as she stood) and brushing the dust from her dress. She glared up at the heavy wooden door, which she knew was the object that had hit her, and found herself face to face with a tall, well-to-do looking man in a gray suit.

"Oh, excuse me," he said with a smirk. His voice contained no remorse, and his steely blue eyes danced with a twinge of laughter.

India stood motionless for a moment, unable to express the anger she felt. Finally though, she regained her speech. "How dare you!"

"Me?"

"The nerve of some people!"

"Wh--What?!"

"First you shove me over into the street, then you can't even apologize without laughing? Well, I never!" She wanted shove him, to hit him, to run at him, her arms flailing in circles like a windmill. She'd had enough smiling, enough laughing for one day. She simply couldn't tolerate anymore. She stared at him hard, her eyes conveying the coldness she felt in her heart.

"Forgive me, Miss, but…"

"No! No, it's too late for apologies. I see how funny my injuries are to you…"

"I wasn't going to apologize," the man interjected.

She gaped at him for a minute. "Hmph!" India straightened her skirt, then her bonnet, and turned to storm toward Ashley's house.

The deep, masculine voice stopped her. "I was going to say what happened is your fault."

"My fault!?"

"Yes, Miss --?"

"Wilkes! Wilkes, not that it matters to you! Not only are my injuries funny to you, now you're saying I'm liable for being hit in the head with a door and knocked into the street!?" People had begun to gather, curious about the commotion. India's voice became louder and louder, and her face became redder and redder.

"Well, Miss Wilkes, you _were_ kneeling down in front of the hotel door," the man informed her very matter-of-factly. India looked at him to see that he was offering his hand to her. "I'm Greyson McAllister. It's very nice to meet you, Miss Wilkes."

India glared at the extended hand for a moment, then at Greyson McAllister's laughing eyes. She had become aware of the small crowd that now surrounded the two of them, so she chose not to respond to his offering. Instead she turned for Ashley's, surprised that he hadn't come out looking for her by now. She just wanted to away from town as quickly as she could, so she could put the whole messy morning behind her.


	3. Grey

**Author's Note: Thank you, thank you, thank you to everyone who was nice enough to read and review the first two chapters of "To Live Again"! The reviews are so helpful...they really keep me motivated.**

**Another big thank you goes out to Tipperose, who never tires of sharing her wisdom and talents with me! I hope you'll like the way this third installment turned out. Happy reading!**

* * *

_Grey_

Greyson McAllister set his expensive gray hat atop his head and smirked at the sight of the opinionated Miss Wilkes limping away down the dusty Georgia street as quickly as she could manage. Grey was pleasantly surprised to learn that the woman had refused to back down when confronted about the incident of the hotel door. Most girls in her place would have blushed, apologized sheepishly, maybe even shed a couple tears, turned tail and run home. But Miss Wilkes, it seemed, had no idea who Greyson McAllister was. And if she did, she didn't let on about it.

He reached into his coat pocket and removed a small slip of paper on which he'd inscribed an address the day before. _Kennedy's_, he reminded himself, slightly embarrassed that the encounter with the Wilkes woman had left him rattled. _Kennedy's Timber Mill_. He hoped Kennedy would be expecting him. After all, he'd written the fellow weeks earlier to alert him of his visit, but received no response. Well, if his lumber wasn't ready, he wouldn't mind remaining in Atlanta for a few days more. He rather enjoyed the bustle of the city and the sights of progress; buildings rising up everywhere.

Grey found the mill with no trouble and took a look around the premises. The mill was adjacent to a general store, also named _Kennedy's_. It appeared as though Mr. Kennedy was a very wealthy man. Grey masked another grin; he quite enjoyed doing business with his own kind.

He stepped up on the worn wooden sidewalk and assessed the storefront; he could see the merchandise placed neatly in the large windows for easy viewing. He liked it, it wasn't cluttered or disorderly. His reflection caught his attention, and though not necessarily vain, he did stop to glance at his appearance. After all, one did want to look ones best when doing business.

He looked no worse for wear after his encounter with Miss Wilkes, which was a relief to him. Grey always prided himself on not being easily distracted; it was a trait that had served him well through the years. He lifted his hat and smoothed back his light brown hair and adjusted the coat on his tall frame. Clear blue eyes stared back at him as he ran a hand over his chiseled, square jaw. He smoothed down the trim beard that ran the length of his jawbone; smiled and nodded at himself. It was time to meet the elusive Mr. Kennedy.

A tinkle overhead sounded his entrance into the lumber office. He glanced around, his eyes scanning the area. Small stacks of lumber, tables lined against the wall stacked with paper and books lining shelves were what greeted him, everything he expected to see except for Kennedy or anyone who worked for Kennedy. Letting the door shut behind him, he called out for assistance and waited for a response. Receiving none, Grey decided to visit the mill itself; surely _someone_ would be at work by now.

He was met at the mill's entrance by a thin Negro man, brushing sawdust from his worn, patched-up clothing and staring at him inquisitively. "Kin I help you, suh?"

"Uh, yes," Grey took on his most professional tone. "I'm sorry if I've disturbed your work, but there was no one in the office when I arrived. I'm looking for Mr. Kennedy. I had an appointment with him."

"Mist' Kennedy ain' here no mo', suh," the man informed him. "Bizness belongs to Miz Butler now."

"Ms. Butler?" Grey asked. A peculiar thing for a woman to be in charge of a lumber mill.

"Yes, suh."

"Very well, then. I'd like to speak with Ms. Butler, please." Grey glanced around at the expanse of the mill, then back at the man before him who made no move to retrieve anybody.

"She ain' here neithuh, suh."

"What?!" Grey reminded himself to remain calm, though he was fully aware the frustration he felt had begun to spread across his face… in the form of a deep crimson flush.

"She outta town."

"Fine, fine. Who is in charge while Ms. Butler is away?" Surely there would be someone who could fill his order. He wanted Georgia pine, and _Kennedy's_ had come very highly recommended.

"Mist' Ashley."

"Ashley. Good. I would like to see Mr. Ashley, then. Right away, please."

"Yes, suh," the man replied. He opened the door to the office and stuck his head inside. "Ain' nobody in the office yet, suh."

Grey rolled his eyes and heaved a heavy sigh. He didn't want to unleash his rising frustration on this fellow, although Grey did wonder if the man was simply playing games with him, just for sport. "I _know_ there isn't. That's why I found _you_. I wondered if you might tell me where I could find the person in charge."

"Well, Mist' Ashley should be here any minute now. You kin wait fo' him out there if you want to." He motioned toward the office from which Grey had just come. Grey thanked the man halfheartedly and re-entered the office, wondering if he'd made the right choice by choosing _Kennedy's_ lumber mill after all.

He seated himself and checked the time on the gold pocket watch attached to his vest. He let his mind wander for a moment, replaying the episode from the hotel. He couldn't help chuckling when he remembered the sharp-featured Miss Wilkes, looking almost as if she was ready to haul off and hit him. Maybe he shouldn't have argued with her, but she entertained him so. In fact, he wouldn't mind infuriating her again if only he knew where to find her.

The bell over the door tinkled again as a somber, golden-haired man entered the office. His eyes looked sad and his shoulders sagged as if he carried some enormous weight on them. He looked startled when he became aware of Grey's appearance. "Good morning," the man said, insincere.

"Good morning," Grey greeted in his businesslike tone as he stood, holding his hat in both hands. "Are you Mr. Ashley?"

"I am," the man replied, moving toward him to shake hands. "And you are--?"

"Greyson McAllister. I was supposed to meet with Mr. Kennedy, but I've been informed he's no longer here?"

"Yes, he's, ah, no longer with us. Actually, he passed away some time ago."

"Oh, I'm sorry…"

"It's all right, Mr. McAllister, we've had many people inquire about Mr. Kennedy. The business _does_ bear his name, after all. Now, what can I do for you?" Mr. Ashley pulled a large record book from a nearby shelf, then looked back up at Grey.

"I'm interested in making a purchase. I own a construction company in Baton Rouge, Louisiana that is responsible for building businesses. Our services are in huge demand right now, Mr. Ashley, and I'm in need of a great deal of lumber."

"Well, let me take you into the lumber yard and show you all we have to offer, Mr. McAllister. I'm not sure we have all the lumber you'll need, but, perhaps it will be a start for you."

The two men walked side by side through the lumber yard, stopping to examine each stack of Georgia pine with great detail. Grey was pleased with the quality of the lumber, in fact his heart leapt when he imagined a bare skeletal wall rising from the ground and standing erect above his head. "Yes, I think this will do nicely," he said, remembering not to let his excitement show on his face.

"Good. Why don't we go inside and do the necessary paperwork?" Mr. Ashley led him back into the tiny office, which now seemed smaller and more cramped than before. Grey had long since decided he'd rather die than have to work in some stuffy office. He had to work outdoors, he could breathe better there. Oh, he knew his father had been disappointed when he learned that Grey wouldn't become a lawyer. But Grey had done well for himself, and continued to provide for his mother and his sister, Meg, long after his father's death. He liked to believe that somewhere, his father was looking down and smiling upon his success.

Grey and Mr. Ashley spoke for several minutes more once the business transaction was complete. Grey had decided to remain in Atlanta to oversee the preparation of his lumber order. Once the wood had been shipped back to Baton Rouge, he would return as well.

"Where are you staying, Mr. McAllister? Do you have family or friends in Atlanta?" Mr. Ashley inquired.

"No, I know no one in Atlanta," Grey admitted. "I'm staying at the Grand Hotel. It's been a very pleasant stay, I'm quite content there."

"But you're forced to eat at the hotel or a restaurant every night," Ashley observed. "How long has it been since you've had a home-cooked meal, Mr. McAllister?"

Grey chuckled a bit, "It's been some time, indeed."

"Well, then," Mr. Ashley said, his form and countenance looking much better than when he first arrived, "I insist upon you coming to dinner at the Wilkes home tonight."

"Wilkes?" Grey asked. He thought again of the hotel encounter. _Wilkes,_ she'd said. _…Not that it's any of your business…_

"Yes," Mr. Ashley replied. "Wilkes is my last name. Ashley is my first."

"Oh, I'm sorry, Mr. Wilkes. All I'd been told was Ashley."

"Think nothing of it. So will you? Come to dinner tonight? My sister, India and I would be so pleased to have you."

Grey didn't usually accept dinner invitations from strangers, but this Ashley Wilkes appeared to be a good man. And if there was any possibility that this India Wilkes was the same Miss Wilkes from the morning, he couldn't miss another opportunity so see her. He was intrigued by her for some inexplicable reason.

"Of course," Grey replied gratefully as he shook hands with Ashley Wilkes. "It would be a pleasure."


	4. Dinner Disasters

_Dinner Disasters_

India caught herself smiling as she gazed contentedly at the wafts of steam that rose from the pots on the stove. Ashley had been noticeably upset when he'd left for work that morning, either from grief or worry or a combination of the two. She hoped fervently that a hearty supper and a night of uninterrupted sleep would help ease his mind, he didn't look well. She wiped the perspiration that had begun to bead on her forehead, and then began transferring the green beans into a serving bowl in heaping spoonfuls. She had never claimed to be particularly domestic, never thought she would have to be. But a well turned-out dinner such as this one created a great sense of accomplishment and pride inside her, made her feel important and able. She liked the feeling.

After giving Beau his supper she walked the child to his bedroom and gently tucked him beneath the covers. Beau's eyelids drooped, covering his great brown eyes like a drawn window shade. India silently prayed a blessing over the sleeping child and kissed his forehead lovingly before returning to the kitchen. Ashley would be home soon, and she didn't want him to find things in disarray.

Despite the chaos that had ensued during the morning hours, India smiled as she turned the corner and walked down the hall toward the kitchen. She was pleased with the way her day had turned out. The weather had been beautiful, so beautiful that she and Beau had elected to have their lunch out in the garden. Beau had played happily enough with his favorite ball and the wooden carved locomotive he'd received for his most recent birthday while India darned Ashley's socks and put a patch on a pair of Beau's knickers. Yes indeed, it had been a quality day overall.

Upon entering the kitchen India found the potatoes boiling over, splashing in foamy streams over the sides of the pot. She instinctively reached for the pot handle, then screeched in pain as she felt the searing heat of the handle burn the fold of skin between her thumb and index finger. She hastily released the pot handle, put her burned hand to her mouth and watched in horror as the pot of potatoes teetered on the stove's edge for a moment before tumbling onto the floor, splattering the front of her dress as it hit the ground.

"Sakes alive!" she cried in frustration. Hoping the potatoes could be salvaged, India went to her knees, grabbed the pot handle with the hem of her skirt (she might as well, it was ruined now anyway) and tossed each hot potato back into the pot. The board floor was now covered in a cloudy puddle and India searched frantically for a cloth to mop up her mess. She spotted her dishcloth on the nearby table and raised herself just enough to grab hold of it, knocking the crown of her head against the bottom piece of the corner of the table as she went. She winced and let out a short, pain-filled scream, undecided which hurt more, her burned hand or her aching head.

She was more cautious as she rose from the floor. Having mopped up the juicy potato mess that had puddled beneath her before, she again set to work putting the final touches on her spectacular dinner. She sliced the ham and carefully arranged it on a serving platter, rinsed the potatoes and warily creamed them, and removed the biscuits from the oven. She took special pride in her biscuit-making abilities and smiled at the beautiful, golden things as she placed them into the bread basket with enormous care. She went about setting the table and placing each dish of food at its own particular angle and filling glasses with water.

A sound from outside sent her darting back into the kitchen, picking up the small bits of clutter that still lingered about the room. She hefted the large sack of flour she'd used for the biscuits in her arms and crossed the kitchen to store it in the pantry. She strained a bit under the weight of the sack and grunted as she shifted the bulk of it to her other hip.

The slam of the front door startled her, and she lost her grip on the flour sack which hit the wood floor with a muted thud. A cloud of flour rose into the air, and dusted India's hair and face as it fell. She gave a sputtering cough followed closely by an infuriated grunt; then, realizing that Ashley must be home, she hurried into the foyer to intercept him before he poked his head into the kitchen.

"Ashley, the table is set for…" Her statement was abruptly cut short when her eyes met the figure of a man who wasn't her brother. She gave a breathy gasp when he turned to face her, grinning like a Cheshire cat. She realized who he was all at once; the man from the incident at the Grand Hotel! "Mr…?"

"McAllister," he replied with a smug smile. "Nice to see you again, Miss Wilkes."

India felt a hot flush crawl up her neck and cover her face. She glanced down at herself and frowned at her damp skirt, which was now covered in a thin layer of flour dust, too. Ashley entered, having taken Mr. McAllister's hat and coat to the hall tree, and gawked at India for a moment. She grimaced at him harshly making Ashley cast his gaze down to the floor solemnly, like a child being reprimanded by his mother. "India, dear, I've asked Mr. McAllister to join us for dinner tonight."

"Nothing would please me _more_," she said through gritted teeth, in a tone that told both her brother and the rude man from the hotel that she was none too pleased. "I'll set out another plate." She turned and walked hastily back toward the kitchen, but caught a glimpse of her reflection in a hall mirror and sighed miserably at the image. Her hair looked practically grey, coated with a covering of the exploded flour, and was almost entirely loose from the bun she'd so carefully pinned up that morning. Her face and clothing were coated in the white, powdery stuff as well. "Oh, what they must think of me!" she whispered to herself, dusting her hair and dress as she marched into the kitchen for another place setting.

She made an attempt to improve her appearance by quickly repinning her disheveled hair and splashing some cool, clean water on her face. Having done this she returned to the dining room with a plate, napkin and silverware for their undesirable guest, who was already seated to Ashley's left at the table. India placed the dinnerware before him (a bit too forcefully) and took her seat to Ashley's right, directly across from the haughty Mr. McAllister.

"I must say I'm looking forward to this, Miss Wilkes," the dreadful cad smirked again. "Your brother tells me you're quite the cook."

India did not respond to his faux chivalry, but went about passing the food to Ashley who, in turn, passed it to McAllister. Though she wondered how this strange dinner party had come about, India made no mention to either of them about the incident at the hotel, and neither her brother nor Mr. McAllister gave any explanation, either. So India went about eating silently, while Ashley and McAllister talked amiably. She learned that Greyson McAllister owned a construction business in Louisiana. Well, that explained his connection to Ashley; he must have bought an enormous amount of lumber for Ashley to invite him to supper. He'd never invited a customer home before, not that she knew of. She also found out that his father was dead, but his mother and sister lived with him in Baton Rouge.

She examined him closely as he spoke with Ashley. She supposed he was attractive; if a girl favored the ruggedly handsome kind. He was thick framed with large hands that looked as if they might crush the water glass he held at any moment. His face and hair looked sun-kissed, and he wore a moustache with a short, well-groomed beard that ran along his square jaw line. His eyes were an indescribable color of blue, a blue that looked icy but not cold. He smiled to reveal perfectly white, straight teeth, and his voice bore very little accent of any kind, though she could catch just a hint of Cajun dialect. McAllister noticed that India was watching him and glanced at her with a questioning look.

"You all right, Miss Wilkes?"

"F-fine," India replied, now studying her plate with deep interest.

A sharp, painful cry sounded from upstairs. "Beau," India gasped as she jumped to her feet, more eager to escape from the table than to go to the crying child.

"No, India," Ashley motioned for her to remain seated. "He's having another nightmare. I'll go to him." Ashley tossed his napkin onto the table and excused himself before hurrying down the hall toward Beau's bedroom.

"Everything all right?" Mr. McAllister asked, his voice full of concern.

"Oh, yes," India told him, still not looking at him. "You see, Mr. McAllister…"

"Call me Grey."

"Well, Ashley lost his wife only a short time ago…"

"Yes, he told me."

"They had a son, Beau. He's been having trouble sleeping; he has dreams about his mother."

"Oh, I'm sorry to hear that." Grey hesitated a moment before speaking again. "India."

India gazed up at him, her eyes wide, her voice wavering. "Hmm?"

"Your first name's India. It's very different."

"Yes." She gave no other explanation.

"You're named for a continent." He was smirking again.

"Well, what kind of a name is Grey?" India snapped. "You were named for a color!"

Grey laughed aloud with explosive force, his mouth opening wide to reveal his straight, white teeth once again. "Yes, I suppose I was. You're certainly a spitfire, Miss India."

It had been meant as a compliment, but India took it as an insult. She narrowed her eyes, pursed her lips and glowered at him, huffing loudly through her nose. It only seemed to amuse him all the more.

"Nothing wrong with being a spitfire, mind you. I think it makes you endearing," Grey said.

"Well, there's nothing endearing about being an ill-mannered, disrespectful cad!" India tore into him now, with reckless abandon.

"Don't tell me you're still angry about this morning," Grey said. "Why, I only came to dinner to make peace with you."

"So you admit you were the one at fault?"

"I didn't say that."

She crossed her arms and raised her chin at him defiantly. He chortled again before taking the napkin from his lap and folding it neatly, then placing it on the table. "Don't be angry, Miss India, although I must say it becomes you."

"You certainly have a strange way of complimenting a woman," she noted.

"_You_ certainly have a strange way of entertaining a guest," Grey replied.

She glared at him fiercely. It was as if he enjoyed harassing her! Well, she had had enough. She stood and moved toward the foyer. "Let me get your things for you, Mr. McAllister."

"Yes, I suppose I _should_ be going, shouldn't I?"

"Yes, I think you should!" India marched into the foyer where Grey was now waiting and handed his coat and hat to him. He accepted them, still smiling at her amusedly.

"Express my gratitude to your brother. It was so kind of the two of you to have me for supper."

"It wasn't _my_ decision at all, Mr. McAllister."

"Please, call me Grey."

"Please call _me_ Miss Wilkes."

"Very well then, Miss India." Another sly smirk. He placed his hat upon his head. "Thank you for a wonderful evening."

India opened the door and watched as McAllister's thick frame moved casually into the moonlight. "Mr. McAllister?" she called. "Grey?"

He turned to face her, his eyes glistening like the stars that hung above his head. "Yes?"

"Personally, I found the evening to be quite dull."

His smile widened. He threw his left hand up in a wave. "Goodnight."


	5. A Day Off

_A Day Off_

India grimaced as she rose from her bed, her head throbbing from the blows she'd taken the day before. She slid from beneath the covers and peeked through the lace curtains of her bedroom to see that nothing new or unusual was taking place outside, though something about the day definitely _felt_ different. She couldn't quite put her finger on it; but, yes, something had certainly changed. She could feel an alteration inside herself, and was surprised when she realized that something inside her had turned when she least expected it, without her even trying.

She took her time getting dressed and styling her hair, humming softly as she went. The damaged dress from the previous day's mishaps lay across a chair in the corner, and India stopped to examine it closely before going downstairs. She would talk to Martha about it; see if it would ever be wearable again. She'd have to go and see Dr. Meade as well; he could prescribe a salve for the blister that had risen between her thumb and index finger, a painful reminder of the searing pot handle.

Despite her physical discomfort and exhaustion from the previous day's calamity, India was in a relatively pleasant mood as she greeted Aunt Pittypat, who sat munching away happily at the breakfast table. "Good morning, Auntie."

"Oh, India, dear," Pittypat said between sips of coffee. "Ashley stopped by this morning."

"Ashley?" India asked.

"Yes, he left this for you," Aunt Pittypat retrieved a note that she'd placed beneath her saucer, so as not to lose it. She handed the note to India, who opened it eagerly, concerned about Ashley's reason for leaving word for her so early in the morning.

The note was, indeed, written in Ashley's small, slanting script. She poured over the few short lines solemnly:

_My Dear India,_

_I had not realized until yesterday evening how tired you must be. Forgive me, dear, for placing such a burden on your shoulders. You should not have to look after Beau and me every day of the week. Therefore, I have asked Mrs. Meade to look after Beau today, and she has graciously agreed. Enjoy a day to yourself._

_Much Love,_

_Ashley_

India smiled and read the note again, relieved to have even twenty-four hours to herself. She felt a bit guilty about the pleasure she felt. After all, Mellie had run that house single-handed with no complaint for several years. But, India reasoned, things might feel different if the house and the boy were her own. And she _was_ tired. No, she would not fight Ashley on this. She would relish her day off and return to Ashley's tomorrow, refreshed and rejuvenated, in a better frame of mind.

She did not gobble down her breakfast, as had become her custom on the days she went over to watch Beau. Instead, she deliberately lingered at the table, still eating and sipping coffee long after Aunt Pitty had risen from the table. She made a mental list of all the things she'd like to do that day, none of which included any sort of sewing or cooking. She pondered it and found it hard to remember what life had been like before she had become maid, cook and governess for her brother and nephew. As a matter of fact, she couldn't remember a time since the war began that she'd felt truly happy, and that realization bothered India. She had resigned herself to the life of an old maid before she'd even turned twenty. She'd consented to become a spinster before her time and, suddenly, she regretted it.

India's intense contemplation was abruptly cut off as Aunt Pittypat rushed into the room, her face flushed in a deep crimson, her small, chubby hands moving from over her mouth to her dress, to her forehead, then finally fanning her red face. Her eyes looked worried, almost fearful. India stood and crossed to her immediately, concerned that the high-strung woman may have finally done herself in this time. "Aunt Pitty?" India prodded. "Are you all right?"

"Oh! India! Oh dear!" Aunt Pitty steadied herself on India's shoulder, her breathing heavy and erratic. "There's," her voice lowered into a whisper, "a _man_ here to see you!"

India feigned a gasp and pressed her knuckles to her mouth to conceal a smile. "A man? Why we've forgotten what one of those looks like, haven't we Auntie?" She patted Pittypat's shoulder and took a moment to straighten her dress before stepping into the parlor.

She was neither surprised nor particularly thrilled to see Greyson McAllister standing before her, hat in hands. His face bore a look combining humility and mischievousness, his eyes glinted as he appraised her appearance and India suddenly felt bashful and embarrassed. Not willing to give him the upper hand, she took a moment to assess him suspiciously before taking his hat. "Mr. McAllister…"

"Grey," he corrected her.

"What are you doing here?" she asked, her voice sounding more demanding than she intended.

Grey responded, undeterred. "I spoke with Ashley at the mill this morning and he said you were taking the day off. Everything all right?"

"Fine," India replied. "I'm just a bit tired, that's all."

"Oh. Well that's a shame." Grey seated himself in one of Aunt Pitty's uncomfortable armchairs, propping his right ankle atop his left knee and rubbing his bearded chin pensively. India stared at him inquisitively, not looking away until his gaze met hers. "I had hoped you might help me."

"Help _you_?" Again, her tone sounded more unfriendly than she meant it to.

"Yes, you see, I am returning home to Louisiana in a few days, and I'd like to purchase a gift for my sister, Meg. She's getting married soon and I promised her some new items for her trousseau."

"Why, Mr. McAllister, I certainly never would have taken you for the type who cares much for weddings or trousseaux," she commented.

"I enjoy a good wedding, so long as it isn't my own," Grey grinned.

India felt a sinking in her chest and frowned. She was disappointed, but was unsure why. She mustered a smile and forced a brief chuckle.

Grey must have noticed her discomfort, for he went on hesitantly. "You see, Miss India, I've been the man of the house ever since my father passed away, so it's my responsibility to see that Meg enters into marriage with everything that is expected of a new bride. Unfortunately, I know very little about what is normally put in a trousseau, considering I've never been married. I…could use a woman's advice. And seeing as you're the only woman in Atlanta I have the pleasure of being acquainted with, I had hoped you'd agree to help me."

She had intended to turn him down. After all, she still hadn't completely forgiven him for the incident at the hotel, and he'd been so ungrateful at dinner…calling her a spitfire and teasing her about her name…but as she looked at him she was taken by the earnest eagerness in his eyes. He wasn't looking at her today the way he'd done at the hotel. India was suddenly conscious that she'd been gazing at him for some time and immediately stared down at her hands. "Well, I _did_ have some errands to run in town…"

"Then you'll come?"

"Well, I suppose I could," India replied, careful not to sound too willing.

"Good!" Grey smiled as he stood up. His eyes were dancing again, and India had to remind herself harshly not to stare. "I'll give you a few moments to get ready."

India furrowed her brow in confusion. She had already dressed for going into town. She looked down at her brown frock, smoothing it with both hands. Though it was indeed simply made, she wouldn't consider it too plain for shopping. In fact, it was one of the nicer dresses she owned. But apparently, Grey was accustomed to the "finer things," so despite her desire to chastise Grey harshly for making assumptions, India began upstairs with no further discussion.

India entered her bedroom and immediately crossed to the wardrobe. She decided on an ivory blouse and a blue skirt and dressed hurriedly, a bit embarrassed by the fact that she was undressing directly above Grey's head. She unpinned her hair and carefully rearranged it into a more intricate style. She pinned a broach to the center of the collar of her blouse. It had belonged to Melanie, and India felt a placidness wash over her as she clasped the broach, as if it channeled Mellie's peaceful, gentle nature. She smiled at her reflection in the mirror and walked back downstairs to find Grey talking amiably with Aunt Pittypat.

"Oh!" Aunt Pitty gasped, smiling at India and clasping her pudgy hands in front of her chest. "India, dear, you look wonderful." She beamed proudly at India as if she had dressed for some formal party or ball.

"Thank you, Auntie," India replied, uncomfortably.

"Well, Miss Pittypat, it certainly was an honor to meet you," Grey said as he took Aunt Pitty's hand and kissed it. "And forgive me for assuming you were Miss India's _sister_. I meant no disrespect."

"Oh, Mr. McAllister, it's quite all right," Aunt Pitty giggled. "He thought I was your sister, India. Isn't that something?"

"Yes. It is indeed," India said, smiling at Aunt Pitty, then looking skeptically over at Grey, whose sly grin greeted her stare. "Shall we go?"

"Certainly," Grey answered. He offered his arm but India ignored it, taking her bonnet and reticule from the hall tree and stepping out into the sunshine. They walked in silence for only a fleeting moment before Grey said, "You do look nice, India."

"Flattery may work on my Aunt Pitty, but it doesn't fly with me, Mr. McAllister," India advised as she slipped on a pair of gloves.

"Well forgive me for paying you a compliment," Grey sulked, feigning offense. "Shall we go to Kennedy's store first?"

India grimaced at the mention of the store. She preferred to stay as far away from Scarlett's business as she possibly could. "We could try the general store near the hotel first," she suggested. "They carry some very nice things there."

"But I passed the window at Kennedy's yesterday and saw some things I'm interested in. Besides, I'd like to stop by the mill and inquire about the progress of my lumber. Kennedy's first, Miss India."

She was tempted to pout, or simply refuse to set foot inside the place, until she remembered that she'd been told Scarlett had gone back to Tara for a visit. Perhaps she could shop at Kennedy's just this once. After all, she didn't want Grey to think she was being childish about the whole thing. It wouldn't hurt to go in so long as Scarlett wasn't there.

Kennedy's was stocked with items both practical and impractical, and Grey perused the shelves intently. India glanced around nervously and cringed as she spotted a pair of emerald green eyes glowering at her from behind the counter at the front of the store.

"Why India Wilkes, what a surprise to see you here," Scarlett swept from behind the counter, her green eyes twinkling. "It's just been entirely too long."

India's eyes shot daggers toward Scarlett but she smiled coolly to mask her animosity. "Hello, Scarlett."


	6. Introductions

**_Author's Note: _Just wanted to say a huge "THANK YOU!" to that faithful handful of you who is always so good to read and review my work. You have no idea how uplifting and inspiring your reviews are. They fight off the bouts of writer's block that sometimes plague me! Even bigger thanks to Tipperose, who I should really refer to as my co-author. She never tires of giving advice and helpful suggestions. Enjoy Chapter 6!**

* * *

_Introductions_

The urge to turn and run gripped India hard, but she stood still and willed herself to stay. She would not let Grey see her brought down by Scarlett.

"You two know each other?" Grey asked, obviously amused at India's stiff coldness.

Scarlett smiled with an air of indifference, "India and I have known each other since we were children, isn't that right, India?"

"Yes," India responded coolly and clasped her hands together.

"I don't believe we've been introduced, I'm Scarlett Butler," she extended her hand for Grey to take. India gaped at Scarlett's expression; she was eyeing Grey the way a hungry cat eyed a canary!

Grey grinned down at Scarlett and took her hand in his own. He kissed the top of it softly, as any well-bred gentleman would do. "Mrs. Butler, it's a pleasure."

Scarlett's smile widened as she lowered her eyes coyly. "And you are?"

"Greyson McAllister, from Louisiana," he answered over Scarlett's hand, which he had not released much to India's annoyance. She watched the interaction between the two of them and felt an unexpected jolt of jealousy sweep through her.

"Louisiana? My, you _are_ a long way from home," Scarlett replied as she finally lowered her hand. "How is it that you're in Atlanta, Mr. McAllister?"

"Business," he told her. "In fact, I recently made a purchase at your fine mill." He smiled at Scarlett before turning to India. "Today, however, I'm looking to purchase a wedding gift for my sister. Miss Wilkes here was kind enough to escort me around town before I return home."

"Well, isn't she quite the hostess," Scarlett turned to India with a small, smug smile that made India want to slap her right there on the spot. "Though I'm afraid, Mr. McAllister, that India wouldn't be a great deal of help to you."

"Oh?"

"Yes, you see, India has never been married, so she couldn't possibly know what a new bride needs in order to set up housekeeping," Scarlett replied and cut her eyes to India to make sure she had landed her mark.

India seethed inwardly. She could hardly control the anger that surged through her at Scarlett's cutting remark. She knew she shouldn't have, but her tongue took over before her brain could react. "Well, that's something you would know ALL about it, isn't Scarlett. Considering you've had _three_ husbands of your own to set up housekeeping with."

Scarlett's demeanor changed, but not the way India expected it to. "I don't think Mr. McAllister is interested in our muddled pasts, India Wilkes. I am not ashamed of the fact that I've had three wonderful husbands, good men all of them."

India's mouth fell open at Scarlett's declaration but she couldn't stop herself anymore than she could stop the sun from rising in the morning. "That's rich coming from you! You've never cared for any one of them, not even the husband you have now. At least he has had the good sense to leave you high and dry. You're nothing but a vile, deceitful woman who snares men in your web like a black widow spider. That's what you are Scarlett O'Hara, a nasty spider!"

Silence echoed around them as Scarlett and Grey looked at her, one with fiery anger and the other with mild disbelief. Embarrassment flooded India's face at her outburst, but Scarlett was quick to answer back.

"You'll never let it go, will you, India? You'll never get over the fact that I stole Charles away from you all those years ago." Scarlett stood perfectly still for a moment before thrusting her final blow forward. "It's pathetic that you've spent all of these years pining over a man who never even gave you a thought."

India moved back from Scarlett, unwanted tears burning her eyes and threatening to run down her cheeks. She glanced over at Grey, whose expression had changed from a jovial smile to that of concern. He moved toward her, his outstretched hand intending to grasp her arm to steady her. Instead, India moved away before he could touch her, making her way toward the door as fast as her shaky legs would carry her.

She mumbled something about needing to see Dr. Meade and exited the store, her steps gaining more and more speed as she moved further and further away from _Kennedy's. _

She soon realized she was running full-speed through downtown Atlanta and stopped to catch her breath and make sure no one was watching her. What had happened to her back there? Why on Earth did she let Scarlett Butler get the best of her? Heavens above, what would Grey think of her now? India sighed as she brushed a loose strand of hair from her perspiring forehead and tried to think rationally. Where had she said she was going? Oh yes, Dr. Meade's office.

"Good afternoon, India," Dr. Meade greeted when he answered the door to his office.

"Hello, Dr. Meade," India composed herself enough to enter the office and remove her glove, displaying her blistered hand to the good doctor. "I had a bit of trouble in the kitchen at Ashley's. I wondered if you might have a salve that would relieve some of the discomfort."

"That's a bad blister," Dr. Meade concurred. "Let me see what I can find for you." He made his way into the back room, leaving India alone in the waiting room. As she waited, she replayed the incident at the store over and over in her head.

She supposed Greyson McAllister preferred a girl like Scarlett, a girl who was flirtatious and (as much as she hated to admit it) beautiful, someone who would laugh at his jokes and not fight back when he stated an opinion, someone who knew how to dress for outings and parties and dances. India was _not_ that girl and she never would be. She caught a glimpse of her reflection in the office window and sighed at what she saw. Oh, what had she been thinking? Did she actually believe someone as prestigious and well-off as Grey would want a drab, melancholy spinster like her? Maybe she _was_ right to bury her heart when Charles died; maybe she should've left it buried.

* * *

The departure of India stood between Scarlett and Grey like a great whirlwind. At first, Grey didn't know how to respond. He wasn't a man who liked to find himself in the middle of women's vindictiveness. Scarlett, on the other hand, behaved as if she had merely shooed a pesky fly away.

"That was quite a display you ladies put on, Mrs. Butler," Grey observed.

"I must apologize, Mr. McAllister. India and I aren't exactly on friendly terms. I'm sorry if her outrageous behavior has embarrassed you," Scarlett explained straightforwardly.

"Actually," Grey admitted, grinning and stroking his beard, "I quite enjoyed India's little performance."

Scarlett's delicately arched brows rose, "Is that so? You're quite the unusual man if you find such behavior from a lady enjoyable."

"Unusual or not, I like women who speak their minds. India doesn't back down from a fight, and I admire that about her."

A deep throaty laugh emitted from Scarlett as she lowered her eyes once again. She was beautiful and she knew it, Grey mused. She was the kind of woman a man would hang himself over if he couldn't have her. She lifted her skirts and swept around him, forcing him to follow her actions. "I declare, Mr. McAllister, if I didn't know better, I'd say you were smitten with India."

"I wouldn't say smitten, Mrs. Butler. Intrigued, perhaps, would be a better word."

"Surely there are more intriguing women to choose from than an old maid like India Wilkes," she said as she lifted an ivory box that was intricately carved.

Grey found himself suddenly perturbed. The Butler woman spoke about India as if she were a dog rather than a person! "Pardon me, Mrs. Butler, but you have no right to say such things about India. Being over the age of twenty-five doesn't make one an 'old maid' as you so cruelly put it. To be perfectly honest I'd rather marry a mature, opinionated, strong woman like India than a giggly, silly, inexperienced child who's considered to be in her prime! Age means very little to me, Mrs. Butler."

Scarlett's expression changed once the word "marry" slipped off Grey's tongue. She gave him a knowing look and nodded her head as if her suspicions had just been confirmed. She cleared her throat and spoke calmly, "So then you _do_ intend to marry her?!"

"Lands sakes, I barely know her!" Grey exclaimed in a tone that revealed his shock at Scarlett's forwardness. "I just don't think it's fair for you to attack someone who isn't here to defend herself!"

"You're right when you say you don't know India very well, Mr. McAllister. She isn't the type that most people find desirable. She may seem…how did you put it? Intriguing?...to you _now_, but you'll soon learn who India Wilkes really is. She's a cold, interfering, meddlesome woman who cares about no one but herself." Scarlett faced him square on, refusing to back down or change her mind.

"On second thought, perhaps it's _you_ who doesn't know India Wilkes very well, Mrs. Butler. I believe I'll do my shopping elsewhere. Good day." Grey stormed out of the store, leaving an obviously flustered Scarlett behind him.

* * *

India tucked the tube of medicine into her reticule before reemerging into the sunlight and sighed dejectedly when she realized that Grey was nowhere in sight. She'd secretly harbored the hope that he'd be waiting for her when she exited the doctor's office. She couldn't exactly blame him for not wanting to see her, though; she'd certainly made a fool of herself back at Scarlett's store. Her face still felt hot and flushed from the running, and she wasn't sure what to do with herself next. Returning home so soon would only prompt an interrogation from Aunt Pitty, and India didn't think she could bear any questions just now.

Lost in her thoughts, she crossed the busy street and moved slowly toward Ashley's house, simply because she didn't know where else to go. She could be alone at Ashley's, she thought, at least until the evening. She wouldn't have to think about Grey or Scarlett anymore today. She cringed as she passed the Grand Hotel, the memory of her chance meeting with Grey running through her head.

"You'd better move a little faster than that, Miss," a familiar voice behind her said softly. "I just might hit you with another door."

India stopped in her tracks and whirled around to see Grey smiling at her kindly, his eyes dancing as she'd seen them do so many times before. "Grey." Her voice reflected her relief at the sight of him, though it was flecked with worry and humiliation.

"Don't sound so happy to see me." He was teasing her again.

"Grey, about earlier…"

"Think nothing of it. I think you were fine back there, just fine." He spoke with sincerity now. India felt her heart leap as Grey reached for her gloved hand, squeezed it tenderly, then placed a brief kiss atop it. It was as if she couldn't breathe, and the winded feeling pleased her. "Shall we have a bite to eat?" he asked.

India went to speak but couldn't force the words to come, so she nodded heartily.

"I've never known you to be at a loss for words, Miss India," Grey observed with another sly grin. "Everything all right?"

"Fine, Grey. I'm fine."

"It sure is nice to hear you calling me Grey. And, India?"

"Yes?"

"I don't believe I've ever seen you smile before."

She stared at the ground, concentrating hard on his words. "Really?"

"Really," Grey replied gently. "It's beautiful."


	7. Farewells

_Farewells_

"Where are we going, Aunt India?" Beau questioned as India buttoned his coat and placed a cap on his head.

"I told you, Beau, we're going to your Daddy's work. We're going to take him some lunch. Would you like to do that?"

"Oh, yes!" Beau smiled. India reached for the basket containing Ashley's meal and escorted her nephew out into the sunshine. The sun's warmth washed over her face and India suddenly realized that she was beaming, too. She reveled in the pleasure she felt, in the change that had taken place inside her. Something had turned, changed for good, and India liked it.

She hoped silently that Grey would be at the mill. They'd seen quite a bit of each other since the incident at Kennedy's. India knew that Grey's lumber order was nearly ready and that he'd be leaving for Louisiana soon; she wanted to take advantage of every moment together they had left. Funny, she didn't remember when her feelings for Grey had changed. Things happened in a sort of whirlwind, one she rather enjoyed being caught up in.

They arrived at the mill to find Ashley poring over the books, his eyes looked tired, and his mouth was tight. He smiled at the sight of Beau who ran toward him with arms outstretched. Ashley took him up in a tender embrace, appearing to gain as much comfort from the hug as Beau did. "What brings you to work today, sir?" he asked Beau in an exaggerated, businesslike tone.

"We brought you some lunch!" Beau declared, hastily taking the basket from India and shoving it toward his father. Beau grinned as Ashley uncovered the basket and gasped excitedly at its meager contents.

"The biscuits are leftover from breakfast," India informed him. "There's a fried pork chop and a baked apple as well. And teacakes for desert."

"I helped Aunt India make the teacakes!" Beau boasted proudly. He gazed at his father admiringly as Ashley smoothed his son's brown hair. It was the same chestnut color that Melanie's hair had been.

"You did?" Ashley asked. "Then I'm sure they'll be absolutely delicious!"

"May I stay with you while you eat?" Beau asked as he seated himself beside his father. "Please?"

"Of course you can," Ashley replied. "As long as Aunt India says it's all right."

"Aunt India?" Beau looked at her pleadingly.

"It's fine with me," India told him honestly. "In fact, I believe I'll step out to enjoy the sunshine while the two of you have lunch." India moved outside the mill office and inhaled deeply. A slight breeze moved through a nearby tree, asserting just enough force to barely stir its tiny green leaves. _Spring_, India mused, _has finally come._ She smiled a bit at this small-seeming revelation, knowing fully that a small thaw had begun in more than just the red Atlanta earth, it had begun in her heart as well.

"Excuse me, ma'am," a deep male voice interrupted, "I'm looking for a Miss India Wilkes."

India whirled around to find Grey standing behind her, smiling slyly, his entrancing blue eyes narrowed. She'd been so deep in thought that she hadn't even heard him approach. "Grey," she smiled brightly before she even realized it. His eyes twinkled merrily as he took in her appearance.

"Oh, excuse me, Miss. You couldn't be the India Wilkes I'm thinking of," he teased lightly.

"Really?" India responded raising an inquiring brow.

"Yes'm, you're entirely too lovely to be the woman who I first knew to be India Wilkes."

"Is that so?" She crossed her arms over her chest in feigned offense, but couldn't muster a pretend pout. She could only smile at Grey's amusement.

"That's right. The woman I'm speaking of has a hard time controlling her tongue and she's sometimes found covered in flour, not to mention has a temper that would rival any Irishman I know."

"Greyson McAllister, don't you dare tease me that way!" India protested weakly, but found herself laughing in spite of it.

Grey reached for her hand and gave it a small squeeze before speaking again. "What brings you to the mill today?"

"Beau and I brought Ashley his lunch. It was just such a nice day I couldn't resist getting out of the house for a bit. How about you? What brings _you_ here?" India inquired.

"I'm making the final arrangements on my lumber order," Grey informed her. "I'll be leaving for home tomorrow morning."

"Really?" India tried to conceal her obvious disappointment. The past two weeks had been unbelievably enjoyable. She feared that Grey's departure would send her reeling, back into the rut in which she'd spent so many lonely years. "I'm sure you're anxious to return to Baton Rouge."

"It's always nice to go home," Grey consented. He must have seen the change in India's demeanor because he quickly added, "Though I _have_ enjoyed my stay in Atlanta."

"Have you." India pulled her hand away from his abruptly, her head lowered, her eyes cast down to the dirt beneath their feet. "I'm glad to hear it.'

"India?" Grey prodded.

"Hmm?" was her response.

"India, don't be angry with me," Grey pleaded earnestly. "You knew full well that I'd have to go back to Baton Rouge sooner or later. What with Meg's wedding and everything, you knew I'd be heading home eventually."

"I'm not angry," India said quietly. "I'm not."

"Then why won't you look at me?" Grey asked her. India instantly lifted her gaze, forcing a smile in Grey's direction. His concerned expression didn't lift, it only deepened. "India, you must _know_ how fond I am of you."

She sniffed nobly, and then nodded. True, Grey had never spoken aloud of his feelings for her, but India knew he hadn't been spending time with any other girl during his visit to Atlanta; not even with that horrid Scarlett Butler, who had tried so persistently to snag him. India's gaze returned to the dirt, her mind racing furiously. Though she knew she should say something to him, she wasn't sure what. The words simply wouldn't come.

"Well?" Grey questioned. "Aren't you fond of _me_?"

She lifted her head and studied at him for a moment, her expression solemn. His icy blue eyes sparkled in the sunlight; his straight white teeth were barely visible through his slightly parted lips. His tanned face and sun-streaked sandy-blonde hair made it plain that he worked outdoors. He was the most handsome man she'd ever seen, the man who'd just told her he cared for her. India decided then and there that she wouldn't let Grey return to Louisiana without letting him know exactly how she felt. She stepped toward him hesitantly, Grey did not back away.

She opened her mouth to tell him what she was feeling, but she suddenly felt an overwhelming feeling of drowning. What if she told him how she felt and he didn't respond? What if she put herself out there and then he never returned to Atlanta again? She'd be left alone just as she was with Charles! Alone, and this time more the fool because she was older.

India stared at him and felt her heart slam into her ribs. He smiled softly at her and then she slapped him square on the jaw! Grey pulled away from her, obviously shocked by her actions. "Wh… what was that for?" he asked, rubbing his red, welted jaw in puzzlement.

"You, Greyson McAllister, are a cruel, heartless cad!"

"But India, I…"

"How _dare_ you?"

"How dare I what?" Grey questioned, confused.

"You barge into my life, turn my whole world upside-down, and then leave for Baton Rouge, just like that! It isn't right! It isn't fair! It isn't…" She pressed her knuckles to her mouth quickly, fully aware that she'd said too much. Grey, who still looked bewildered, didn't say anything. He stood perfectly still, his eyes wide, his mouth open, and his hand on his red jaw. India panicked and hurried toward the door to the lumber mill's office. She halfway expected Grey to follow her, but he didn't move. She covered her face with her hands and leaned her head back against the office door. She reopened her eyes to find Ashley and Beau staring at her as if her hair was on fire.

"Everything all right, India dear?" Ashley questioned her.

"Fine," India replied weakly, trying desperately to hold herself together in front of her brother.

"You look a little flustered? Are you sure you're feeling well?"

"I'm just fine. Come on, Beau, we need to be going now." She took the little boy's hand and practically dragged him out of the office. Beau offered no protest. As they stepped outside again, India scanned the area for Grey, but there was no sight of him. So this was goodbye, she supposed. Things had gone exactly the way she thought they would. With a resigned sigh, she held tightly to Beau as they headed for home, never noticing Grey staring at her from across the street as she moved away.


	8. Brothers and Sisters

_Brothers and Sisters_

The initial sting of the slap had faded but Grey still stood there for several minutes after India and her young nephew had walked away from the mill. He couldn't help but smile as he remembered her smacking him. It had taken him by surprise at first, but he soon realized that it was just like India Wilkes to do something like that, especially at a moment that was intended to be heartfelt and sentimental. So she _did_ care about him! He'd known it all along, of course, but it made him feel better to hear it straight from her.

He'd hid from her and watched her until she strode completely out of sight, and then made his way toward the lumber mill office. Now that India had gone he could do what he'd really come for. He reached into his coat pocket and removed the envelope he'd earlier addressed to her. He noticed that his hands were shaky, and his heartbeat was more rapid than usual. It was uncharacteristic of him to feel so anxious; but he supposed when a man found a woman that had this sort of effect on him, it was natural.

He wanted to tell her what he was feeling, but the words just wouldn't come. He wrote them down to her in this letter knowing that his going back to Baton Rouge would certainly give them both time to consider what was happening and allow India to decide if she wanted to pursue it. At least this way, if she rejected him, he wouldn't have to face her in person. With a deep sigh, he moved across the street to the mill, the letter gripped tightly in his hand.

* * *

India poked the needle through the fabric and felt it jab into her finger. She immediately stuck it in her mouth and grimaced. Why couldn't she stop thinking of him? She'd had half a mind to rush down to the train station and attempt to make amends, but she wouldn't allow herself to see him again. Seeing him would have only made things worse. He would go back to Baton Rouge, work at his job, watch his little sister get married, and never give her another thought. He had been toying with her, leading her on all along. He had built up her hopes and then left her. Alone…again.

"Whatever in the world is wrong with our India?" Mrs. Meade's concerned, frail-sounding voice broke through her thoughts and called her back to her sewing.

"I'm sorry," India sighed, shaking her head and glancing back down to her needlework. "I'm not…feeling well."

"Oh, that's too bad," Aunt Pitty said, with a worried look toward her.

"Your discomfort wouldn't have anything to do with a certain handsome young man from Baton Rouge, would it?" Dolly Merriweather prodded. The three old biddies stopped sewing and gazed up at her eagerly. Aunt Pittypat licked her lips in anticipation, hungry for details about India's relationship with the attractive gentleman who'd called on her two weeks earlier.

India scoffed at their overzealous expressions. Sadly enough, when it came to India and Grey's short-lived friendship, there wasn't much to tell. "Sorry to disappoint you, ladies, but Greyson McAllister and I have parted ways. In fact, he left for Baton Rouge this morning."

"Oh," the old hens all sighed in unison, their voices filled with both pity and disappointment.

India solemnly returned to her sewing, restlessness and discontent soon sweeping in and carrying her thoughts again to Grey. It irritated her that she couldn't stop thinking about him, in fact Greyson McAllister was _all_ she could think about. How ridiculous, she thought, for a mature, well-bred woman like herself to pine after a man so! _He's an acquaintance, that's all,_ she told herself. _Why he only spent two weeks in Atlanta! How on earth could I be so concerned about someone I've only know two weeks?_ She resolved then and there not to mope or sulk about Grey's leaving. Things would go back to normal soon enough; she could resume her simple, uneventful life without anymore distractions or complications. The everyday rut and routine would be good for her, she was convinced.

* * *

Ashley wrung his hands as he paced anxiously before the fireplace, which served as the only source of light in the simply decorated parlor. The burning wood crackled and popped behind him; the noise was strangely comforting. He lit his pipe and breathed several puffs, concentrating on each individual waft of smoke as it floated through the dark room. The envelope in his pocket weighed on him like lead. For a moment he'd considered tossing it into the fire, allowing the flames to engulf it and erase it from existence completely. However, he knew its contents were important to India. He'd present the letter to her when the time was right.

He was a courageous man, this McAllister, to approach him with his intentions the way he did. In that respect, Ashley rather admired him. He'd never been renowned for his boldness or confidence, and a small part of him was envious of people who were. People like Rhett Butler and this Greyson McAllister fellow weren't concerned with their public image or the way they were perceived, so they could afford to be brazen and audacious. Audacity simply wasn't Ashley's way.

He pulled the letter from his pocket, surpressing the urge to tear it open and peruse its contents, and placed it inside his roll top desk beneath a stack of papers. Guilt quickly rose up inside of him, but he managed to quell the feeling by reminding himself that he had India's best interest at heart. He didn't want his sister to be hurt. He was responsible for her care since their father passed away; it was his job to protect her, look out for her, ensure her safety. Yes, he was only doing what was best for India.

* * *

"Grey! Grey, over here!" Margaret "Meg" McAllister signaled frantically to her older brother as he stepped from the train. She was dressed in a simple yet beautiful gray frock, complete with a matching bonnet. Her golden-brown hair curled about her shoulders and her porcelain cheeks flushed with excitement. Grey moved to her hurriedly and lifted her into the air in a warm embrace. Meg giggled as her feet left the ground for a moment. "Oh, I'm so relieved you're home!" Meg confessed as Grey returned her to the earth.

Grey kissed her cheek. "So am I." He glanced around. "Where's Mother?"

"She's at home," Meg told him.

"She didn't want to come to the station to greet her only son?" Grey asked, a bit concerned.

"We've met every train for the past two days," Meg informed him. "She's exhausted. But she insisted that I come and fetch you. She said, 'Meg, you bring my boy home. I want to see him.' She's missed you so."

"And I've missed her. I've missed both of you." He smiled at the young woman who stood before him, amazed at how grown-up she looked. Grey took pride in the close relationship he shared with his family; his mother and sister meant the world to him. He lifted his suitcase and offered Meg his arm. They moved through the crowded train station and soon made their way into the Louisiana street.

"You must tell me all about Atlanta," Meg prodded. "I've never been there before."

Grey smiled as he remembered Atlanta, remembered India. He wondered silently if she'd read his letter yet. Ashley didn't appear to look favorably upon his intentions; Grey wondered if the letter had reached India at all. "Atlanta is quite an interesting city," he smiled down at his sister, "but very different from Baton Rouge. Why if you weren't going to be a married woman in a few short weeks I'd offer to take you there."

"You can still take me," Meg told him, "even after I'm married. Speaking of the wedding, did you bring me anything for the trousseau?"

"Perhaps," Grey teased.

"You did! What did you get?" Meg questioned him eagerly. "Is it something wonderful?"

"Wonderful," Grey replied.

"Did you pick it out yourself?"

"I…had a bit of help. Some assistance from a new friend."

"Really?" Meg inquired. "Tell me about this friend of yours. A young lady, I presume?"

"An old maid, actually," Grey grinned. "Quite a character."

Meg looked surprised. "I've never known you to associate with old maids, Grey."

"Well this one's…different. Special. In fact, I wondered if might invite her and her family to your wedding. I'd like very much for you and mother to meet her."

"Of course!" Meg clapped her hands excitedly. Grey scoffed at her; Meg was such a romantic, still a little girl at heart. He adored her. "Of course they must stay with us. We'll talk to mother about it first thing."

"I'd rather keep it between us for the time being," Grey told her. "I'll speak to mother about it soon enough." Meg nodded knowingly and hugged Grey's arm as they approached the large house, walked up the front steps and swung the front door open with a creak. Grey breathed in the smell of the big house, a scent he'd known since his childhood. "It's good to be home," he mused aloud.


	9. Discussions Held Over Dinner

_Discussions Held Over Dinner_

"It's so nice to have you home again, Greyson," Sarah McAllister said as her handsome son pulled a chair out for her at the dinner table.

"Thank you, Mother. It's nice to be back." Grey moved to his own place at the table and sat down. He watched as Bessie, the black woman who'd worked at his home since his childhood, ladled stew into a bowl and passed the bowl toward him. "Bessie, I've missed your cooking!" Grey exclaimed with a smile.

"Hmph," Bessie masked a grin and propped her fist on her hip. "Glad to have you home, too, I reckon. Good to have someone in dis house who ain' 'fraid to eat!" She nodded toward Meg, who smiled sheepishly.

"Bessie, if I ate everything you put on my plate I'd be as big as a barn and wouldn't be able to fit into my wedding dress," Meg informed her. Everyone at the table chuckled softly.

Grey waited politely until his mother and sister had begun eating before eagerly spooning the stew into his own mouth. He abandoned his bowl long enough to spread butter on a warm slice of cornbread and began munching on it enthusiastically. His mother watched him in amusement for several seconds before interrupting. She did love to watch her boy eat a hearty meal. He worked hard enough, he deserved it. "Tell me about your trip, son. You spent a good deal of time in Atlanta."

"It was a very successful visit, Mother. I purchased enough lumber to build _three_ new restaurants!" Grey told her.

"But Mr. Franks only requested the one…"

"Mother, this is Georgia pine!" Grey exclaimed with a chuckle. His mother didn't look a whit impressed. "Why it's only the best lumber money can buy!"

"I'm sure you spent a great deal of it. Money, I mean," Mrs. McAllister remarked.

"Not as much as I expected to, though," Grey told her. "Mr. Wilkes, that's the name of the fellow who ran the mill, he gave me a very fair deal. And without my having to bargain with him!"

"Doesn't sound like much of a businessman, this Mr. Wilkes," Mrs. McAllister said.

Grey smiled at his mother's keen observation. "He wasn't. In fact he was decidedly the _worst_ businessman I've ever dealt with. But he's a good _man_. That's the most important thing, isn't it Mother?"

"Yes," she conceded, beaming at him proudly. "Yes, that's what's most important of all." She nibbled her cornbread daintily, too excited about Grey's return to eat very much. She sighed and smiled to herself. Things lit up when Grey came around, herself included. Sarah McAllister's children were the joy of her life, and having them both under her roof pleased her more than anything else in the world.

"You're still going to give me away, aren't you, Grey?" Meg asked, changing the topic of conversation completely. "You _must_ walk me down the aisle!"

Grey propped an elbow upon the cherry tabletop and grinned wryly at Meg. The wedding was on her mind constantly these days, it was all she ever talked about. "Of course I will," he assured her.

"Even if your friend comes for the wedding? You'll still do it then?"

Grey cleared his throat and shot Meg a perturbed look. He'd asked her not to say anything!

"Friend?" Mrs. McAllister questioned. "What friend will you be inviting to your sister's wedding, Greyson?"

"It's no one, Mother, just…"

"Grey met a girl!" Meg blurted it out before she could even think. She glanced over to Grey with an apologetic look. He sighed and rubbed his forehead. "I'm sorry, Grey," Meg said softly. "I know you wanted to save that news until later, but, oh I'm just so excited I can hardly stand it! Why, you know as well as I do that you've never brought a girl home before. I so want to meet her. Maybe we could become real friends!"

"Meg, I…"

"I don't know why in the world you wouldn't want to share this with your own mother, Greyson," Mrs. McAllister said, noticeably flustered by Meg's announcement. "My boy has found someone. Someone he really cares for! Well, don't just sit there, Greyson, tell us all about her!"

He hung his head in defeat. He should've known better than to share any details about his personal life with his sister for this very reason. Now Meg and his mother were excited and hopeful…perhaps without reason. He'd wished to avoid sharing all the particulars until he was sure that India wanted to make a go at a courtship. But now, it seemed, they wouldn't stop prodding until he told them what they wanted to know. "Her name is India."

"India." Mrs. McAllister repeated in a singsong voice. "The name's a bit unorthodox, but quite interesting. Go on."

"Her brother is Ashley Wilkes that runs the mill I bought timber from in Atlanta. His wife died a short time ago, and India helps take care of his little boy while Mr. Wilkes runs the mill."

"Sounds like a perfectly pleasant girl," Mrs. McAllister remarked.

Grey snickered to himself quietly as he thought of India Wilkes. India was many things but she was certainly not pleasant, not when he first met her at least. If truth be told, she hadn't been very pleasant to him at the time of his departure, either. He smiled and ran a hand across his jaw as he remembered her slapping him.

"Ah, look at him, mother," Meg sighed, ever the dreamy romantic. "He's smitten for her."

"Greyson, I do declare, I never thought I'd live to see the day when you finally found a girl who suited your particular tastes," his mother announced. "Your father always said you were far too picky to ever get married, but I told him…"

"Married?!" Grey exclaimed. "Who said anything about getting married?"

"Why son, that's the next step once you've found the woman you want…"

"Good heavens, Mother, let's not get carried away!" Grey maintained a respectful tone despite his frustration. His mother was forever trying to marry him off.

"Grey, all she meant was…" Meg gently tried to smooth things over.

"Married! Why I hardly know the girl! I only wanted to invite her to Meg's wedding because India helped me choose the gift for the trousseau. She works so hard to help Ashley and his son, I thought visiting might give her a little reprieve, you know, help her get some rest."

"Oh…"

"She's a very unique woman, Mother. Very different from anyone you'd ever meet around here. I consider her a friend, someone I'd like to get to know a bit better. But married?" He heaved a sigh and pushed his bowl away, his appetite suddenly gone. He dabbed at the corners of his mouth with a napkin and excused himself from the table, thanking Bessie for the meal as he went. The subject of marriage always made him uncomfortable, he wasn't sure he was the marrying kind.

* * *

The streets of Atlanta were strangely empty as India made her way home from Ashley's that evening. The streetlights glowed casting eerie half-circles across the ground. A cool wind blew, forcing India to pull her shawl tighter around her shoulders. "Whatever happened to spring?" she mumbled under her breath.

* * *

"Why didn't Aunt India want to stay for dinner, Daddy?" Beau asked as Ashley deposited their dinner plates into the kitchen and retrieved the pound cake with peach preserves that India had left for dessert.

"She's just tired, I suppose," he replied. "What a nice looking cake! Did you help make it?"

"No," the little boy answered. "Aunt India told me I couldn't help her today. She wouldn't even let me lick the spoon!"

"Really?" Ashley asked, cutting a slice for Beau and topping it with the preserves before cutting a slice for himself.

"Mmm-hmm." Beau could scarcely reply for the mouthful of cake. "Aunt India was very sad today, Daddy."

"Is that so?" Ashley asked, a knot rising in is stomach. He knew full well the cause of India's moping. He pushed his plate away and reached for a napkin to wipe Beau's mouth.

"Yes. I even saw her cry," Beau informed his father.

Guilt quickly overwhelmed Ashley, he could feel the color draining from his face. "Crying? She was crying?"

"Yes. I went into the parlor after my nap and found her," the child told him. "Reading a book and crying."

"Did you ask her what was wrong, Beau?" Ashley prodded.

"Yes, Daddy." Beau reached for his glass of milk and gulped it eagerly.

"And what did she say?" Ashley questioned as he thought of the letter stuffed to the back of his desk. India's letter.

Beau placed his empty glass back onto the table and wiped the white moustache of milk from his upper lip with the back of his hand. "She said it was a very sad book."


	10. Correspondence

**Author's Note: I am so grateful to all you loyal readers for sticking with me through TEN CHAPTERS of India! I know I have many readers because my hit count is very high. I hope you enjoy reading this fiction as much as I enjoy writing it. Thank you for taking time out of your day to read my work, and extra special thanks to the faithful few who I can always count on for support and quality reviews. Hope you enjoy the tenth installment!**

* * *

_Correspondence_

_Two weeks._ Two weeks had passed since Grey's departure from Atlanta and India had received no word from him. Her days had slipped back into their former mild mediocrity, her life into a hard, bitter clandestineness. She chided herself harshly for caring so much, for wondering what Grey's life was like back in Baton Rouge. But no matter how hard she tried, she could not erase the thought of him from her mind. Walking past the Grand Hotel was well-near painful for her; she just couldn't let go.

She tried to keep herself occupied every moment of every day. She never let herself sit idle for fear that her thoughts might drift back to those first days of spring. Sometimes, however, as she read silently to herself, the words on the pages before her slipped away incomprehensibly and lost all meaning. Somehow her thoughts always returned to Grey.

She didn't know quite what she'd expected to find in the tall, handsome stranger from Louisiana. She reminded herself constantly that he had only been passing through, and that the confident, relaxed demeanor he'd shown her was probably the same toward every female he knew. India sighed heavily, her shoulders sagging in defeat. The life of a spinster was her destiny, she supposed. No use fighting it any longer.

Spring was in full swing in Atlanta. Flowers had begun to bloom and the skies were filled with singing birds. India noticed that Beau Wilkes was growing, too, shooting up like a weed in a well-kept garden. She had braved the undertaking of sewing Beau some new clothes, and despite a few imperfections, the wardrobe had turned out quite nicely. Ashley had ordered him a new suit as well as a pair of new shoes, so India and Beau walked to the post office daily to inquire after the new items. Although India knew the order would take several days, if not weeks, to arrive, her nephew's excitement persuaded her to make a daily trip into town.

"Good morning, Mrs. Trammell," India greeted as she and Beau entered the post office one warm spring morning.

Mrs. Trammell, the lady who worked behind the desk, smiled knowingly at India as if she was keeping some kind of secret from her. Mrs. Trammell was notorious for keeping Atlanta supplied with juicy tidbits of gossip, and no one questioned her position or attempted to usurp her job simply because the little woman was getting on in years. She looked as if she was in her late seventies to early eighties, her hair had once been golden, but had since turned white with a yellowish hue. Her eyes were deep blue and protruded a bit above her sunken-in cheekbones. She had a tiny frame with small hands that people shook delicately for fear they might crush one. Her skin looked very thin, with bluish veins showing beneath its surface. Mrs. Trammell had lost two sons in the war, and had taken the job at the post office to keep her mind off things.

"Good morning, India," Mrs. Trammell said. She knew what they'd come looking for. "No package today, I'm afraid."

Beau's lips immediately went into a pout. He crossed his arms and furrowed his tiny brow for added effect.

"Don't fret now, Beau," India encouraged him. "Your new things will arrive very soon." She looked up at the old lady behind the desk. "Thank you, Mrs. Trammell." She guided Beau toward the door.

"Just a moment, India," Mrs. Trammell said. India turned and looked at her quizzically. "A letter's come for _you_, dear." Mrs. Trammell held an envelope out to her. "It's all the way from Louisiana!"

India's heart leapt for a moment, but she composed herself well enough to thank Mrs. Trammell cordially and escort Beau outside. She tucked the envelope into a pocket on her dress and walked silently alongside Beau until they arrived back at Ashley's. "Beau, you can play for a while if you like. Aunt India's going to start lunch."

"All right, Aunt India," Beau responded. He hurried to the nursery, leaving India alone. Standing just inside the front door, she eagerly pulled the envelope from her pocket and tore it open. Inside was a beautifully engraved card. It read:

_Mrs. Sarah McAllister __  
__requests your presence at the marriage __  
__of her daughter, __  
__Miss Margaret McAllister __  
__to __  
__Mr. James T. Scott, __  
__on Wednesday, June 6th, at __  
__12 o'clock __  
__First United Methodist Church __  
__Laurel Street._

India was unsure whether to be overjoyed or disappointed. While the thought of seeing Grey again excited her, she was unclear as to why he'd sent the invitation to her at all. She explained away his reasoning as common courtesy. After all, India had been the one who'd helped Grey choose the lovely combing shawl for the bridal trousseau. Perhaps this was his way of saying thank you. She ran her fingers along the sweeping font, secretly jealous of the bride-to-be. A beautiful gown, a honeymoon to an exciting new place far away, gifts and flowers…India had always imagined the excitement of her own wedding. It simply wasn't fair that some girls got all that was good in life while others…

Her moping was interrupted by a quiet fluttering sound beneath her. She took a step back and peered down to find a small, thin, square sheet of white paper lying at her feet. She knelt and picked it up, staring at the slanting script on it. The words were written in a bold, deliberate hand. India smiled when she realized it was Grey's handwriting.

_I wanted to extend an invitation for your family to join mine in the celebration of my sister's wedding. I thoroughly enjoyed my stay in Atlanta and wanted to express my gratitude by welcoming the Wilkes family into my own home. I understand that I am taking a risk by inviting you, considering I have received no response from you in regards to my previous letter. Whatever your decision, you have my fervent respect and gratitude. Sincerely, Greyson McAllister_

"Previous letter?" India questioned, not intending to speak aloud. She looked inside the envelope again, ensuring that she had removed all its contents. Perplexed, she set to work preparing Beau's lunch; her mind worked frantically in an attempt to remember another letter Grey had written her or even anything Grey had written at all, for that matter. She couldn't remember seeing him write anything during his time in Atlanta. Maybe something had come for her at the post office, something Mrs. Trammell had neglected to give her.

After lunch she took Beau back to the post office, making the excuse that she'd seen another coach in town, more than likely making a mail delivery. Mrs. Trammell was busy sliding envelopes into the rows of wooden slots on the wall and didn't see them come in. India cleared her throat to get the attention of the elderly lady.

"Why, India! I didn't expect to see you again until tomorrow! You, ah…have a response to that letter from Louisiana, do you?" Mrs. Trammell motioned to take the nonexistent response from India's hands.

"No, ma'am, I don't. I wondered if there might have been any other mail for me? Something you might have missed?" India worked to control her impatient tone.

"No, dear, I'm afraid I don't," Mrs. Trammell confessed after conducting a brief search through the unsorted mail.

"Oh. Well, thank you anyway, Mrs. Trammell." India took Beau's hand and exited the post office, more confused now than before. Instead of turning back toward Ashley's house, India and Beau continued to walk toward Aunt Pitty's. Once they'd arrived, Beau exchanged niceties with his great aunt and was soon napping on the nearby settee. India smiled at him softly, almost ashamed of dragging the poor child around Atlanta and wearing him out so.

"India, dear, how nice it was of you to bring little Beau for a visit," Aunt Pittypat smiled, gazing at the boy's angelic face as he slept. "You'll let him stay for supper, won't you?"

"Yes, Auntie, of course. I'll have to run down to the mill and tell Ashley, though. He doesn't know we're out visiting." India patted her pocket to make sure Grey's note was still there. She resisted the temptation to pull it out in front of Aunt Pitty, knowing full well that her Aunt was relentless when it came to gossip, and would prod and nudge not-so-subtly until India told her what she wanted to know. "Aunt Pittypat, has there been any mail for me recently?"

"No, there hasn't, India." Aunt Pitty eyed her suspiciously. "Why do you want to know?"

"I…just wondered, that's all," India replied. "I think I'll go down to the mill now and tell Ashley about supper. Can Beau stay with you until I get back?"

"Will he sleep a while?" Aunt Pittypat questioned nervously.

"He should," India replied. "If he wakes you could have Martha look after him until I get back." She smiled as she turned her back to Aunt Pittypat. The poor old soul would be a nervous wreck until she returned.

* * *

India could always tell when she was getting close to the lumber mill. The air always smelled of fresh-cut pine, and the sound of saws slicing through pieces of wood filled her ears. Ashley hung over a ledger as she entered the office. He looked startled when he saw her, obviously alarmed as to why she didn't have Beau with her.

"India, my dear," Ashley greeted her. "Is everything all right?"

"Yes, of course, Ashley. Everything's fine."

"And Beau is…?"

"He's with Aunt Pitty at her house. She's invited the two of you for supper, I wanted to come down and tell you myself." India was relieved to see Ashley's worried demeanor change.

"How kind of you to extend an invitation to us! How did all this come about?" Ashley asked.

"Do you remember Greyson McAllister? The gentleman from Louisiana who bought all that lumber a few weeks ago?" India inquired.

Ashley's eyes darted away from hers, his face reddened instantly at the mention of Grey's name. "Yes. Yes, of course I remember," he said.

India stared at him for a moment, a look of concern covering her face, but continued on with her explanation. "Mr. McAllister has extended us an invitation to visit him in Baton Rouge, for his sister's wedding next month. He enclosed a note mentioning something about a previous letter, but I'd never received anything from him before today."

"Really." Ashley stared hard at the floor as India continued.

"I inquired about the letter at the post office but Mrs. Trammell knew nothing about it. So Beau and I stopped at Aunt Pitty's for a visit. Funny, Aunt Pitty knew nothing about a letter, either. I'm not sure what Mr. McAllister was alluding to, I know nothing about a previous letter. _You_ haven't received any kind of correspondence from him, have you Ashley?"

Ashley said nothing for several seconds. He crossed his arms over his chest and touched a fist to his chin as if he were thinking very hard. He sighed heavily, as if suddenly acknowledging defeat by some unknown foe. "India, dear," he began, touching her arm gently. "Please don't be angry with me, there's something I must confess to you…"


	11. Commanding Respect

**Author's Note: Thank you, thank you, thank you to all of my readers, especially those of you who take time out to review my work. It's always nice to go back and read your comments whenever I'm struggling with a particular aspect of the story. Special acknowledgement to Tipperose for her assistance with this chapter. Everyone enjoy!**

* * *

_Commanding Respect_

She turned the envelope over and over in her hands, hesitant to tear it open for fear of what might be inside. She glanced around the room to make sure she was alone before tearing the envelope open and removing its contents. She noted Grey's bold, decisive handwriting and ventured further, devouring his words ravenously. The letter read:

_Miss Wilkes:_

_My dear India,_

_Aside from the anticipation of seeing my mother and my sister, Meg, I am returning to Baton Rouge with a heavy heart. Going home means that I will no longer have the opportunity to enjoy your company and the company of your kind family. You, along with Ashley, have managed to make me feel quite comfortable in Atlanta, and I will be eternally grateful for the hospitality you have shown me during my time here._

_I never expected, Miss Wilkes, to be so taken by you. In fact, after our first meeting outside the Grand Hotel, I feared we might never become friends. But you have surprised me by forgiving my shortcomings and treating me kindly, even despite our occasional differences of opinion. You are truly a lady who commands respect; I admire that about you._

_I will soon take the liberty of inviting you and your family to Meg's wedding in Baton Rouge. If you are agreeable, perhaps we could use your time there to become better acquainted. I am sure my mother and sister would enjoy meeting you as well. If you enjoy your stay with us, I will make arrangements to return to Atlanta occasionally. I would very much like to call on you formally, if I may._

_Please forgive me if I appear too forward for your liking. As I said, I was not expecting such overwhelming feelings from such a short visit. You have made quite an impression on me, Miss Wilkes, one that causes me to forego common niceties and share with you exactly how I feel about you. I will anxiously await a response from you._

_Fondly and respectfully yours,_

_Greyson McAllister_

India felt her heart leap as she read the letter. Her finger ran beneath every line as she examined it, her voice whispered each word eagerly. She re-read the letter two more times before placing it lovingly in her top bureau drawer. India caught a glimpse of her reflection in the bedroom mirror and smiled. She was a lady who commanded respect; that's what Grey had said. And he liked that about her. He liked her just the way she was. She knew she would meet resistance when she announced that she would attend the wedding in Baton Rouge, but she would simply command the respect she deserved. She would see Grey again, no matter what Ashley or Aunt Pitty, or anyone else for that matter, had to say about it.

* * *

Ashley felt sick to his stomach as he watched his sister come down the stairs and seat herself at the dinner table. She eyed him coldly, and Ashley knew she had every intention of telling him exactly what she thought of him. India's wrath was a hard pill to swallow. He was not looking forward to what lay ahead.

Aside from Aunt Pittypat's silly giggles and absurd questions, dinner went along smoothly. For the most part, India remained silent unless questioned directly. Ashley soon found that he was not enjoying one bite of the food on his plate and, after Beau had excused himself from the table, Ashley felt compelled to explain himself to India before she had the opportunity to call him out.

"India, I do apologize for withholding the letter from you, my dear. I only did what I thought was best for you. I don't want to see you made a fool of," Ashley explained as earnestly as he knew how. "Men like McAllister are known for their charming ways, but nothing more could ever come of it."

"Wh-what's all this about?" Aunt Pitty asked nervously, her eyes darting back and forth rapidly between the two of them.

"Why don't you just tell me the real truth, Ashley?" India's eyes narrowed, her nostrils flared, and her face reddened. She looked as if she might burst into flames at any moment. "You're not concerned for _my_ welfare, you're only concerned that I won't be here for _yours_."

"That's not true, India. I _am_ concerned for your welfare-" Ashley reached across the table for his sister's hand, but she quickly pulled it away from him.

"No," she cut him off. "If you truly cared then you would see that I have a chance for happiness, real happiness with Grey. He cares for me and he likes me for me, something I now seriously doubt you or anyone else has ever done. You would be content to let me sit here and waste away while life passes me by, well I'm not! Not anymore, Ashley." She paused for a moment as if deciding whether to continue the tirade, then went on: "Grey has asked me down to his plantation in Louisiana. And I'm going."

Ashley's face shadowed his disapproval. He grasped silently for the right words, unwilling to set India off again.

Aunt Pittypat had already begun fanning herself frantically. "Oh dear, oh dear, whatever do you mean, India?" she asked anxiously.

"I mean, Auntie, that I'm going to Louisiana, with or without your approval." India remained indignant, her face showed no sign of insecurity or fear of their reactions. She had her mind made up, and it appeared that no objection from Ashley or Aunt Pitty could sway her decision.

"Oh dear, my smelling salts, I think I shall faint!" Aunt Pitty fanned herself even more furiously and lolled her head backward.

"Don't you dare faint, Aunt Pitty," India shook her head firmly. "I am a grown woman and I can make decisions for my own life by myself, and I don't care what anyone else says." Aunt Pitty's little mouth puckered into an _o_ as she stared at India.

"India, I'm afraid I can't go along with this," Ashley finally spoke up. "There are some customs that cannot be let down and forgotten. You most certainly cannot go alone, unchaperoned, to meet a man."

"I will, too," India crossed her arms stubbornly. She looked like a sullen child.

Ashley would not give into her childish pouting. "No, you will not. Beau and I will accompany you." India furrowed her brows into a pout; Ashley was not so easily swayed. "Yes, we will travel with you. It will do the three of us good to get out of Atlanta for a while. Now that's my final word on it."

"Come now, India," Aunt Pitty soothed her. "You can take my best bottle of wine as a hospitality gift. And, I'll let Martha travel with you, it wouldn't do for a well-brought-up lady like yourself to travel without a lady's maid." India still didn't look appeased. "Ashley and Beau won't get in the way. They will let you have the independence you need. But, darling, it simply wouldn't be fitting for you to go all the way to Louisiana alone. It's far too dangerous."

India considered this and gave a concerted nod of her head. "Very well, I will write Grey right now and let him know of our coming." She left the dining room without looking back and headed upstairs. Ashley lowered his head on his hands and released a deep sigh.

"Oh Ashley, whatever will we do if India is serious about this man?" Aunt Pittypat asked, wringing her hands nervously.

A laugh escaped Ashley's lips as he lifted his head to her. "What can we do? As India pointed out, she is a grown woman now. We cannot hold here with us if she has a chance for a life of her own."

"Oh dear, how shall I ever explain this to Dolly Merriweather and Caroline Mead? They'll never let me hear the end of it."

"If only my own concerns were that simple," Ashley said as he raised his eyes toward his worried aunt. "However do I explain to Beau that yet another important female is his life will be leaving him? However will the two of us manage?"

Aunt Pitty only shook her head as they enormity of the situation fell on the both them. The silence was only broken by the ticking of the clock on the mantle and the soft, happy humming that filtered down the stairs from India as she wrote to Grey her acceptance of his invitation.


	12. First Impressions

_First Impressions_

Grey paced anxiously alongside the tracks, checking his watch for the hundredth time. All around him, the train station bustled with activity. Steam rose from hot funnels, brakes hissed, and people called out farewells and best wishes to their loved ones as a huge locomotive chugged noisily away. "Too much to ask for a train to be on time, I suppose," he huffed under his breath.

"Why Greyson McAllister, I do believe you're nervous!" Meg accused playfully from her seat on the platform. She brushed a loose strand of hair from her face with gloved fingers and beamed amusedly at her big brother.

"Oh, Meg, don't be silly," Grey replied stoically, turning his head away to conceal the embarrassment that came with the truth of her accusation. He couldn't quite explain the mix of dread and excitement that coursed through him simultaneously as he awaited India Wilkes' arrival. He wasn't sure what to expect when India reached Baton Rouge; he knew she was hardly affectionate, didn't put her feelings on display, so he was unsure how to approach her when she finally arrived. Moreover, he expected some resistance from Ashley, which didn't frighten Grey so much as simply make him uncomfortable. He'd brought Meg along in hopes that her bright smile and optimistic nature would break the tension and lighten the mood.

"Don't think for a moment you've got me fooled, Grey," Meg persisted. "There's something special about this girl…something that makes you feel differently about her than you've ever felt about any other girl. And she's meeting your family for the first time ever. Why, you have every right to be nervous!"

"I'm _not_ nervous. I just wish the blasted train would come in when it's supposed to!" He pulled his pocket watch from his vest again and checked the time, then glared down the track, desperate to hear the faintest sound or catch a glimpse of the engine. Even the smell of smoke would be acceptable. Within minutes, Grey heard the sound of the whistle. He stepped further back onto the platform as the train slowed to a stop before him with its brakes squealing and steam hissing. It appeared that India Wilkes had finally arrived in Baton Rouge.

* * *

The brakes screeched loudly as the train slowly came to a halt. India stared hard out the window, searching the crowd outside the station for a glimpse of Grey. Beau danced from one window to another, barely able to contain his excitement, and Ashley beamed down at him, his eyes full of pride.

"Baton Rouge, Louisiana!" the porter called. India stood and straightened her mustard-colored traveling outfit with black detailing. She futilely tried to quell the anxiety that had risen up inside her before taking her reticule and exiting the train. She moved away from the enormous locomotive as quickly as she could, but Ashley was not easily deterred. He trailed her closely, much to India's dismay.

"Do you have a trunk, miss?" a man's deep voice asked from behind her.

India rifled clumsily through her reticule until she'd found her claim ticket. "Yes, thank you," she said as she whirled around. Her eyes met with a pair of ice blue ones; she smiled when she realized they belonged to Grey. "Grey, hello," she said through her surprise.

"Hello, India," he said with a sly grin. "Let me get this for you." He took her claim ticket and was suddenly gone, lost in the crowd again.

"Don't let Grey's subtleness fool you," a petite, porcelain-skinned young woman said as she offered a gloved hand to India. "He's been a nervous wreck all morning. He couldn't wait for you to arrive. I'm Margaret McAllister, Grey's younger sister."

"How do you do?" India nodded politely. "I'm India Wilkes. May I present my brother, Ashley Wilkes, and his son, Beau?"

"Hello," Margaret smiled at the two male Wilkes. Ashley and Beau greeted her civilly and returned to their own private conversation, Ashley was pointing out the interesting sights around the train station to an ecstatic Beau. Beau's hands were clasped before him in delight. Margaret's gaze returned to India. "We're so pleased to have you, India. Did you have a pleasant trip?"

"Oh, yes, thank you," India replied, remembering her best manners. She had never in her life felt so compelled to make a good first impression. It had never mattered to her before, what people thought of her. But now, though Margaret McAllister appraised her kindly, India was self-conscious and very uncomfortable. "It's so kind of you to have us here, Margaret," she said with eyes cast down to the platform beneath them.

"Meg. Please, call me Meg. Grey should be returning with your trunk momentarily," Meg informed her, noting India's obvious uneasiness. India nodded, grasping her reticule and biting her bottom lip anxiously. "Don't worry, India, you're going to have a very enjoyable trip to Baton Rouge, I'm sure of it."

"Oh, of course," India smiled at her softly. Meg signaled to Grey, who carried India's heavy trunk as if it was light as a feather, and led the party outside the train station where a regal-looking horse and buggy awaited them. Grey shoved India's trunk onto the back of the buggy and dusted his own hands together before reaching to take India's.

"It's nice to see you again, Miss Wilkes," Grey said softly. India gazed at him quizzically. His demeanor seemed softer, gentler than she remembered. She shook his hand cordially. "I'd hoped you wouldn't be covered in flour when you arrived in Baton Rouge; you've very much pleased me." Grey's mischievous grin returned as he released her hand and moved on to greet Ashley and Beau. India masked her own smile as they boarded the carriage. She quite hoped Grey's home wasn't far from town…she wasn't sure she could bear to ride much further.

* * *

"They're coming, Bessie," Sarah McAllister noted anxiously as the carriage moved slowly down the long driveway and toward the house. Mrs. McAllister curiously peeked between a divide in the curtains hoping to catch a glimpse of Greyson's friend. "I don't see the girl yet, do you?"

Bessie scoffed at her as she placed a vase of fresh flowers on the table just inside the doorway. "Don' know why you workin' yo'self into a tizzy, Miz Sarah. Ain' like he gone marry the gal or nothin'." Bessie adjusted the vase carefully before gazing out a nearby window herself.

"Now, you don't know that to be a fact, Bessie. This girl could very well be Greyson's perfect match."

"Well I s'pose she _could_," Bessie replied, propping a hand on her hip, "but Mistuh Grey ain' gone marry huh. He way too picky, Miz Sarah. You know dat jest as well as I does. So you jes don' go gittin your hopes up."

Mrs. McAllister sighed and shook her head as she stared in the carriage's direction. "I'll admit, I do sometimes wonder if Greyson will ever find a respectable girl and settle down. I declare, at the rate he's going, his little sister will give me grandchildren before Greyson does. And I do so want a grandchild to carry on the family name."

The carriage rolled to a stop and Grey jumped out enthusiastically. Eagerly, Sarah watched as a gloved had took hold of Grey's. He assisted the girl out of the carriage and then reached for Meg's hand. Mrs. McAllister observed that the girl's traveling clothes were little more than ordinary, in fact they appeared downright plain next to Meg's more ornate attire. Her hair was fashioned nicely though not overly fancy, and there was a no-nonsense air about her as she stepped cautiously toward the house. Her face was solemn though not a bit afraid, and she clutched her reticule as if someone was going to try to steal it from her any second. Mrs. McAllister smiled to herself. She liked her already.

"She sho' do look plain," Bessie observed a bit too loudly. "Too plain fo' Mist' Grey."

"Oh, Bessie!" Mrs. McAllister chided, waving a handkerchief at Bessie as she stepped away from the door and moved toward the parlor to formally receive her guests. "You be nice to these folks. Apparently they are quite important to Grey. Now open the door, Bessie."

"Hmph," Bessie said as she shuffled toward the door. "You's standin' right there watchin' dem. Coulda opened it yo'self."

Mrs. McAllister suppressed a smile at Bessie's keen observation. She straightened her skirts just in time to look up and see Grey coming at her, beaming excitedly. "Come and meet her, mother. She's here."

"All right, Greyson," she replied, restraining her face from displaying her pleasure at Grey's enthusiasm. She took on her most dignified air and followed Grey into the front hall.

"Mother, may I present the Wilkes family? This is Miss India Wilkes, her brother Ashley Wilkes, and her nephew Beau Wilkes," Grey announced. "Wilkes family, this is my mother, Mrs. Sarah McAllister."

"It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mrs. McAllister," Ashley said with a small bow. "It's very kind of you to have us in your home."

"Well, we're very happy to have you, Mr. Wilkes. I do hope you will be comfortable here with us," was Mrs. McAllister's reply.

"You have such a lovely home," India explicated honestly. Mrs. McAllister smiled and thanked her graciously.

"Yes, it is wonderful," Grey said, gazing up at the ceiling and ornate chandelier. He looked back at India and smiled softly. "This is where I grew up. You know, of all the places I've been, I believe home is my favorite."

"Well, I can certainly see why," India responded. She smiled back at Grey, then dropped her gaze to the floor. Mrs. McAllister watched as a pink blush crawled across India's cheeks.

"Bessie will show you to your rooms. I'm sure you'll want to rest a while before supper." Bessie led the party toward the winding staircase to the upstairs rooms. "Please, make yourselves at home. Do let me know if there's anything you need," Mrs. McAllister called after them.

"I'll bring the luggage up presently," Grey told them as they made their way upstairs. India nodded down at him. Grey looked back at his mother and beamed excitedly at her. "What do you think, Mother?"

"She seems lovely, Greyson," she replied. "They are a very formal family, aren't they?"

"A bit formal, maybe," Grey consented, "but very kind people, the Wilkes. I'm very fond of them. The whole family."

"Yes, I can see that." Mrs. McAllister smiled a knowing smile at her handsome son. "Bring in their luggage, Greyson. Miss India will want to change her dress before supper."


	13. Growing Up

_Growing Up_

India sighed deeply and smiled as she closed the bedroom door behind her. The train excursion had been exhausting, but having finally arrived in Baton Rouge was exhilarating. She felt a kind of freedom she'd never known before, and she appreciated the sensation. She knew all too well that Ashley was in the room next door, yet she thrilled at the independence she'd gained by simply making this trip. She felt more like an adult woman that she'd ever felt in her life.

She removed her hat and placed it, along with her reticule, atop the intricately carved dresser. After smoothing her hair, she examined the bedroom more closely. Though it was decorated quite simply, it bore an air of refinement and elegance. The centerpiece of the room was a lovely canopied bed, and the posts holding the canopy were carved to mirror the detailing on the dresser. The canopy and bed dressings were white with small eyelets running along the edges; the window treatments matched the linens of the bed. A beautiful vase of spring flowers sat atop the bureau and completed the atmosphere of the room beautifully. India leaned over to breathe in the fragrance of the arrangement and was startled by a bold knock on the door.

"Oh, just a minute," she called as she glanced into the pier glass briefly and straightened her traveling clothes. She moved to the door and opened it to reveal Grey leaning nonchalantly on her steamer trunk, smiling assuredly at her.

"Your trunk, _mademoiselle_," Grey said, gesturing grandly as he entered. He stood the trunk near the farthest wall of the room and moved back toward the door. "Supper will be ready in half an hour, but take all the time you need getting comfortable."

"Half an hour will be fine," India replied too formally. Why couldn't she just relax? This was the same Grey she'd felt so comfortable with just a few short weeks ago. India chided herself inwardly; Grey smiled again, as if very amused by her nervous behavior.

"Well, I'll leave you to unpack. Shall I send for your Martha to help you?"

"No, thank you. I'll manage."

"Very well, then. See you at supper."

"All right." She moved toward the trunk but heard the door creak open behind her again.

"India?" Grey said as he put his head back inside the door.

"Yes?" She turned to face him.

"I'm glad you're here." With another flash of a smile, Grey withdrew and closed the door behind him, leaving India alone and blushing.

Half an hour later, India descended the grand staircase cautiously, lifting the hem of her dress just enough to keep from tripping on it. She had a recurring fear of tumbling, head over feet, down a set of stairs; the fear was only amplified by the knowledge that Grey awaited her at the bottom.

She had to work very hard not to stare at him. He wore his trademark gray suit and had his hands in his trouser pockets. His hair was parted to one side and his beard trimmed neatly along his jaw line. His manner exuded a calm confidence which shone through his eyes and his facial expressions. He was, decidedly, the most handsome man India Wilkes had ever laid eyes on. He offered his arm to her as she stepped off the last step and India took it.

"You look lovely," Grey complimented.

"You're just being kind," India replied, trying to mask the pink flush that slowly crawled across her face.

"No, I mean it with all sincerity, India."

"Well thank you, Grey. I'd hoped my nerves weren't so obvious on the outside. My stomach is fluttering as if it was filled with butterflies!"

"No need to be nervous, it's only dinner. I know you Wilkes have dinner in Atlanta." Grey patted her hand and led her into the dining room. India gawked amazedly at the abundance of finery on the dining room table. There were real crystal glasses and real silver utensils. The fine china looked too delicate to eat from, and was painted in a subtle floral theme. A linen tablecloth and napkins completed the finery. India suppressed a twinge of homesickness that welled up inside her for Twelve Oaks; for the parties and dinners her father hosted before the war. She sighed and forced the memories from her mind. _It was a very different time then,_ she thought, _and I was a very different person._

Ashley entered the dining room and somberly took his seat near India. She could see the longing for the old days at Twelve Oaks in his eyes, too. Ashley missed those days much more than India ever could. She mustered a reassuring smile at her brother and tried to lighten his mood. "Beau fell asleep straightaway, I suppose?"

"Yes," Ashley replied, looking at his sister as if he'd just realized she was sitting next to him. "He hardly slept at all last night, he was terribly excited."

"Did you find your rooms to your liking, Ashley?" Grey asked.

"Indeed, Mr. McAllister," Ashley replied formally. "Thank you for your hospitality."

After Mrs. McAllister and the beautiful Meg had seated themselves at the table, Grey sat down at the head of the table and beamed at his guests. "Bessie has prepared a lovely dinner for all of us. I hope you will enjoy it."

They ate quietly for a few minutes before Mrs. McAllister spoke. "I suspect the next week and a half will seem quite chaotic, India. Weddings always present some unexpected surprises, no matter how prepared you think you are!"

"I hope our staying here is not an imposition…" India began apologetically.

"No, no, dear. We're so pleased to have you with us. I only meant that the bridal tea will be held here two days before the wedding. We'll be making preparations for that. I do hope you'll plan to join us for Meg's bridal tea."

"Thank you, Mrs. McAllister; I'd enjoy that very much." India glanced over at Grey who smiled back at her cheerily.

"Don't worry, Mother," Grey said with a side-glance at India. "I'll do my best to see that the Wilkes have an enjoyable trip."

After dinner, Ashley excused himself politely and expressed his gratitude again to the McAllisters. "I do promise to be a more pleasant houseguest tomorrow," Ashley said. "I suppose the trip tired me more than I realized. Goodnight everyone." He kissed India's cheek protectively and patted her shoulder. "Sleep well, dear."

"Goodnight, Ashley. Kiss Beau for me," India replied gratefully. Aunt Pitty had assured India that her brother would not interfere in her personal affairs and, for tonight anyway, Ashley had proven Aunt Pitty to be correct.

"It's a nice night. I believe I'll sit out on the porch for a while," Grey announced after stretching, dropping his napkin onto the table and standing. "Would any of you lovely ladies like to join me?"

"Oh, no thank you, Greyson," Mrs. McAllister replied. "I believe I'll read a while before bed. Goodnight darling." She kissed Meg's cheek first, and then Grey's bearded jaw. "Goodnight, son. India, I hope you'll rest well tonight. Please let me know if there's anything you need."

"I will. Thank you, Mrs. McAllister."

"How about you, India? Care to sit outside for a bit before you retire?" Grey looked at her with eager eyes.

"That would be nice," she answered composedly.

"Meg?" Grey looked toward his sister.

Meg grinned at him knowingly. "I believe I'll let the two of you become reacquainted." She stood and grinned giddily at the two of them before leaving the dining room. "Goodnight!"

Wordlessly, India followed Grey onto the back porch. He pointed toward a wicker chair and India sat down upon it. Grey leaned on the banister and looked out into the darkness. "Nice night," he quietly noted.

"Yes, it is," she agreed. Crickets chirped, frogs croaked, and fireflies darted amidst the darkness. Stars glistened in the cloudless sky. India savored the peace and quiet.

"What do you think of Baton Rouge so far?" Grey asked.

"It's much quieter here than at Aunt Pitty's house in Atlanta," she replied softly.

"Our home is away from the hustle and bustle of the city, thank God," Grey told her. "It gets rather rowdy downtown sometimes. I suppose that's why my father chose to build out here." He stood quietly for a moment, and then changed the subject. "Tomorrow, I'll show you Mother's garden. It's her pride and joy."

"I'd like that," India replied.

"You've been unusually quiet tonight," Grey observed, turning to look at her quizzically. "Everything all right?"

"Fine," India assured him.

"Are you sure?"

"Of course I am."

"I just never knew you to be so silent," Grey said as he leaned back on the porch railing and smiled his mischievous smile. India's face stiffened and Grey couldn't stifle a chuckle. "Don't get offended, I'm just wondering what happened to the India Wilkes I know."

"Well, I haven't the slightest idea what you're talking about," she said with a noble sniff.

"The India I know is confident and bold and never gets nervous when meeting new people," Grey challenged her. "She doesn't care what other people think of her. She is who she is and makes no apologies about it."

"How dare you!" India rose from her chair and neared Grey unashamedly. "You certainly are sure of yourself, having known me for such a short time! What right do you have to tell me what I should do or how I should act?" She jumped when Grey let out a hearty laugh.

"There! Now _there's_ the India Wilkes I know!"

India gritted her teeth beneath her lips and crossed her arms obstinately over her chest. She felt her cheeks burn with her anger and was immediately relieved to be in the darkness of the moonlit night. Why did Grey delight in antagonizing her? Well, she certainly would not allow herself to me made fun of anymore tonight! India spun on her heels and started back toward the door of the enormous house that loomed over the both of them.

"India." The touch of Grey's hand on her shoulder prompted a nervous flutter in her stomach. She put on a stoic face and turned back toward him, chiding herself inwardly for being so drawn to him. "I was only having a bit of fun with you. Don't be angry with me."

She didn't reply, but continued to stand looking at him with arms folded.

"I only meant that you have no need to be nervous, not with me."

Still, no response.

"Or my family, for that matter. Why we're not worried about social graces and good impressions. India, I wanted my family to meet you because I had never in my life met a woman who was so bold and headstrong. Most females are meek and withdrawn, fleeing from anything that might result in a conflict. But you…you stand up for yourself, and I appreciate that about you. It's refreshing to encounter a woman who doesn't back down from confrontation!"

Her face softened a bit, and she relaxed her arms, but she still wouldn't speak to him.

"Besides, I've seen you at your worst, so there should be nothing else to hide…"

"My _worst_?" her mouth gaped open.

"Yes. As I recall you were covered in flour, nursing a lump on your head and a blister on your finger…"

"Don't forget the potato juice, I had it splattered all over the front of me!" she couldn't help but smile as she remembered. "I was not happy to see you that night, Grey."

"Yes, and as I remember you told me so, too." They both chuckled quietly for a moment but soon fell back into silence. Grey cleared his throat and touched her forearm softly for a moment before speaking again. "After I didn't get a response from that letter I left for you, I was sure you'd never want to see me again."

"Well, it's just…"

"I know it was too forward of me; after all, you haven't known me very long, but I was just so thrilled to meet a woman who didn't act afraid or silly around me for a change. You…you're unlike any girl I've ever met. You had quite an effect on me, India." Despite the darkness, India could see that he was looking directly at her, searching her face for some kind of reciprocation.

"I didn't know about the letter until much later," she confessed. "Ashley held onto it for a long while before giving it to me. He was afraid that I would get hurt. He was trying to protect me."

"I see."

"You won't be upset with Ashley, will you Grey?"

"No, I'm not upset with him." He scoffed, "As a matter of fact, that makes me feel a bit better. The letter didn't upset you, then? You didn't think me too forward?"

"No, I didn't. Not at all." Her voice was at almost a whisper. He was standing very near to her now, close enough for her to feel his breath on her face. India's mind raced as they stood huddled close to one another. She never would have expected to find herself in this situation: alone in the dark with a handsome man who appreciated who she was, faults and all. She supposed her behavior could be looked upon as scandalous, but right now, she didn't want to think at length about that. Had she been on Aunt Pittypat's porch in Atlanta, she would have been much more conscious of appearances, but her arrival in Baton Rouge had endowed India with temerity like she'd never felt before. She looked up at him calmly and unafraid, unsure of what would happen next but enthralled with the possibilities.

"I…suppose we should say goodnight, then India." Grey's tone was shaky but decisive.

"Yes, I suppose we should," she admitted, half disappointed and half relieved. "I _am_ a bit tired."

India fell into bed that night awash with feelings she could scarcely express. Her day had been a whirlwind of activity and emotion, from the train trip to the arrival in Baton Rouge, to dinner with the McAllisters, to her encounter on the porch with Grey. She had no idea what the next few days in Baton Rouge would hold for her, but she could hardly wait to see Grey again…to have another "stolen" moment in the dark with him, to hear him voice his admiration for her once more.

That night, India neglected to look at the picture of Charles Hamilton she kept in her Bible.


	14. Friends and Relations

_Friends and Relations_

Sarah McAllister watched with pride as her only daughter greeted guests at her bridal tea. It seemed impossible that her youngest child would soon be someone's wife; it felt as though she should still be a little girl.

Margaret had never given her mother a moment's worry. As a little girl she had clung to her mother's skirts, mimicking Sarah's every move. She sat entranced, watching in amazement as Sarah prepared for a ball or a party. She twisted strands of Sarah's hair in her fingers to fall asleep at night. Sarah very distinctly remembered her daughter's cherubic face as she said her nightly prayers: "God bwess Daddy and God bwess Gwey and God bwess Mommy. Bwess Mommy most of all…" Margaret lived to please her mother, and Sarah McAllister was, indeed, very pleased with the way her daughter had turned out.

While Meg had been an "easy" child to raise, Greyson had required a bit more work. Greyson was a daredevil, unafraid of anything or anyone. He was most at home in a mud puddle or a sand box, getting himself as filthy as possible. He loved the outdoors; in fact, Sarah often told friends that Greyson would just live outside all of the time if she'd allow it. On one occasion, Greyson's bedroom windows had to be nailed shut after he escaped through one during the night. Fortunately, one of the Negro workers spotted him before he made it off the grounds and promptly returned him to the house. But despite his worrisome childhood and, later, his heated debates with his father, Greyson had grown into quite an accomplished gentleman. He had cut his own path, and although he didn't necessarily go about things they way his parents would have chosen, he had proven quite intelligent and successful in his own rite.

Sarah began placing tea service items on a silver tray, blinking away the tears that had welled up in her eyes. _There's too much work to do today, no time to reminisce,_ she told herself very matter-of-factly. _There'll be plenty of time to be sad once the wedding's over._

"Now Miz Sarah, you let me do that," Bessie insisted, bumping Sarah's hip with her own and forcing her toward the parlor. "You go on in there and enjoy yo'self. You the mama of the bride."

Obediently, Sarah went into the parlor and greeted the ladies who had entered. Some nibbled tea cakes while they balanced tea cups on their laps, others stood just inside the foyer and chatted. Meg was among the younger in attendance, describing the details of her wedding gown and glowing with an air of happiness Sarah remembered feeling just before her own wedding. She stood and watched her daughter for a long time before hearing the voice of her oldest and dearest friend, Francine Landry.

"She _is_ lovely, isn't she?" Francine said.

"She certainly is," Sarah agreed quietly. "Every time I look at her, I remember the little girl she used to be. Oh Francie, where has the time gone?"

"Wouldn't it be wonderful to be that young and full of life again? To have a whole life ahead to look forward to? It seems like these days, all I have to look forward to is my afternoon nap!" Francine Landry was tall and lean, her hair had once been as black as tar, but was now completely gray. She had sharp features including a pointed nose, which looked only slightly too long for her face. Her posture, though slightly hunched, still bore a refined air.

"Why Francie, you have your daughters who adore you. Lily has married and moved away, but Violet is still home with you, isn't she?"

"Yes, but you know my Violet," Francine said, shaking her head. "She's not one bit interested in being a lady."

"Oh, let the girl be, Mrs. Landry!" Grey's voice boomed from behind them. He put an arm over each lady's shoulders and grinned slyly.

"Why Greyson McAllister, what are you doing here?" Francine asked. "Don't you know this is a ladies' party?"

"Mother said Violet might be coming," Grey said. "I haven't seen her in months. Where is she?"

"I suppose she'll be here eventually." Mrs. Landry rolled her eyes, then repeated, "You know my Violet."

"Greyson has some company in from Atlanta," Sarah informed her friend. "A young lady."

"What's this all about, Greyson?" Mrs. Landry wanted to know.

"She's a friend I made during my most recent trip," Greyson informed her. "Miss India Wilkes. She assisted me in choosing a wedding gift for Meg, so I invited her as a 'thank you'."

"Well where is she?" Mrs. Landry spun her head from side to side so quickly, Grey wondered if it might spin all the way around without stopping.

"She'll be down shortly, I'm sure," Greyson assured her with a chuckle. "Now if you ladies will excuse me, I believe I'll wait outside for Violet." He patted their shoulders and smiled politely at the ladies who watched him curiously as he moved through the now crowded parlor, the foyer, and finally out into the afternoon sunshine. The day was surprisingly mild for June, and Grey found shade beneath a bay magnolia tree to wait for his childhood friend to arrive.

Violet Anne Landry was two years younger than Grey and two years older than Meg. She had long, dark hair which she never turned up, and a porcelain ivory complexion. Her eyes were brown as chocolate and she had long eyelashes that were the envy of every other female in Baton Rouge. She was known as Violet to everyone in town except Grey, who called her "Vi" when they were alone. Violet and Grey had played together as children; Violet had opted to play with Grey rather than her sister Lily and little Meg, who enjoyed dressing up baby dolls and having pretend tea parties. Violet was as athletic as she was attractive. She was an outstanding horsewoman who never rode sidesaddle, much to Grey's amusement and her mother's disdain, and never wore dresses, as she tended to tear them or simply get them too dirty to ever wear again. Grey teased that Vi was the brother he'd never had. Mrs. Landry hated it when he said that.

Violet had fallen in love with George Davenport, a handsome, young riding instructor who moved to Baton Rouge about a year before the war. George was mild-mannered and quiet, quite the opposite of the boisterous, opinionated Violet. But somehow, the couple managed to find common ground. They were married the day before George left to fight for the confederacy. Violet had only one night of being Mrs. Davenport; she never saw George again. Eventually she went back to calling herself Violet Landry, and nobody in town ever questioned her decision except Grey. She told him she'd changed her name back to Landry because her heart hurt everytime somebody called her Violet Davenport.

She arrived in a cloud of dust, her horse's hooves clopping loudly against the ground. Violet wore a white button-down blouse and a pair of green riding britches, which were tucked into a pair of black boots. Had they not been so dusty, the boots might have matched her long black hair perfectly. Her hair was tied into a long tail at the nape of her neck and fell almost to her waist. She dismounted her horse and knew immediately where to tie it up and fetch water. She spotted Grey on her way back toward the house and hurried to him.

"Well, look who it is!" Grey exclaimed as he embraced her warmly.

"Greyson McAllister, aren't you a sight for sore eyes?!" Violet took a step back, placed her hands on her hips and smiled up at him. "How's everything? How's work?"

"Busy," Grey replied. "But I guess that's a good thing."

"I love to go into town and count all the buildings you've built. I wish I could do something like that."

"Wouldn't your mother love that?" Grey chuckled. "I can just see her walking out of a dress shop and catching her daughter hammering nails or pulling a saw through a piece of wood."

Violet pursed her lips, squinted her eyes, and did her best impression of her mother: "Violet Anne Landry, you wouldn't act that way if you could see how ridiculous you look! I've never met a girl who cares so little about being a respectable lady. You're not a child any longer, Violet! It's time you grew up!" The friends shared a laugh and began toward the house together.

"Isn't that what she said to you the time you challenged Hank Arnold to a horserace?" Grey asked.

Violet laughed loudly. "I would've won too, if mother hadn't found me out!"

"Come into the house, Vi. Mother and Meg will be tickled pink to see you."

"Is little Meg _really_ getting married?"

"She is, and she has her big brother giving her away. Just come see her and let her tell you everything!" The two walked into the house arm in arm, unaware that they were being watched from an upstairs window by a very shocked and angry India Wilkes.


	15. Words of Wisdom

Chapter Fifteen

Words of Wisdom

India watched, horrified, as the chummy-looking pair moved toward the house arm in arm. She balled her hands into fists, squeezing them tighter and tighter until her fingernails dug into the soft flesh of her palms. She wanted to scream at Grey from the window, letting him know what she thought of his behavior, but restrained herself. After all, she had never been promised anything. Grey had simply said he admired her; he hadn't expressed an interest in being anything more than friends. India supposed she had no right to any claims on him whatsoever. She gazed sadly out the window for a long while, replaying every conversation she and Grey ever had, over and over in her head. Perhaps Ashley was right, perhaps they shouldn't have come. She regretted allowing herself to be so taken by Grey, so entranced by his voice and so thrilled at each touch of his hand. He'd never intended to court her; he was just trifling with her all along.

India knew exactly what she should do. She moved about the room decisively, gathering her possessions as quickly as she could. She pulled her dresses from the wardrobe, her undergarments from the bureau, and spread them out on the bed. She paused for a moment, realizing she had no idea as to where her trunk was stored. _No matter,_ she thought to herself, _I'll find Martha and have her pack up for me._ She stepped into the hallway with a determined expression and suddenly found herself face to face with Grey's mother. Mrs. McAllister's arm was raised and her hand was clinched into a fist. She jumped with a start as India stormed out into the hallway.

"Oh, India!" Mrs. McAllister exclaimed. "I was just about to knock on your door. Aren't you coming down to the tea, dear? I've just been telling everyone how wonderful you are, and they're all so eager to meet you. Won't you come down and say hello?"

India tried to soften her expression and remember her manners as she averted her eyes from Mrs. McAllister. "Thank you, no, Mrs. McAllister. I'm…suddenly not feeling well. I believe I'll just…" she heard the door creak open behind her, "…lie down." She took a step backward into the guest room.

"But you were just leaving your room," Mrs. McAllister puzzled, more to herself than to India. She glanced into the bedroom and caught sight of India's things spread out across the bed. "Is everything all right, India?"

"Of course." India forced a smile and nodded her head.

"But you're packing." Mrs. McAllister motioned toward the cluttered bed. India's gaze dropped to the floor, her face flushed. "India, whatever in the world is the matter?" Sarah McAllister's tone was not frustrated or angry. Instead, she showed the genuine concern of a mother. When she received no response from her guest, she stepped into the bedroom and closed the door behind her. "India, if you are unhappy here…"

"No. Truly, Mrs. McAllister, I feel very comfortable. You've made me very at home. I do appreciate your kindness."

"Well then why on earth are you leaving?" Mrs. McAllister asked as she stepped toward India and placed a frail-looking hand on her shoulder.

India remained stoic for a moment, but could not resist confiding in the motherly figure before her. "I…I don't belong here, Mrs. McAllister. I thought I would, but I just don't."

"Whatever makes you say that? Why you belong here just as much as anyone else! And you know Greyson wants you here. He cares for you very much."

"He doesn't seem to care much today," India muttered under her breath.

Her muted frustration was not lost on Sarah McAllister. "Has he done something to hurt you?" she asked softly.

India gave a dignified sniff and shook her head. "It's nothing. It's silly," she replied. Mrs. McAllister spoke no more, but waited patiently for her to go on. India turned toward the window, making the decision to keep her mouth shut. After all, sharing her childish hopes with Grey's mother wouldn't get her anywhere. In fact, it would probably only make things worse. She crossed her arms and stared out the open window. A mild breeze rustled the sheer white curtains, the smell of magnolia wafted through the bedroom. India closed her eyes and inhaled deeply.

"Did you know that I was twenty-seven years old when I married Greyson's father?" Mrs. McAllister said, taking a seat on the edge of the bed. India turned around and looked at her quizzically. Mrs. McAllister smiled faintly as she remembered. "I considered myself a dried up old spinster and had resigned to the idea that I would never marry, never have children. Ben, that was Greyson's father, worked as a lawyer in an office downtown. I remember seeing him in church occasionally and thinking how handsome he was! But he kept mostly to himself; never came to any socials or picnics or anything like that. He stayed buried in his work and never seemed to notice me until the day I walked into his office."

Sarah McAllister smiled broadly now. She gently lifted a blouse that had been tossed onto the bed and folded it with great care, then moved it aside and patted the cleared spot on the bed, an invitation for India to sit beside her. India did so and listened eagerly as Mrs. McAllister continued: "When my father passed away, my mother and I made a trip to Benjamin's office to settle some details of the estate. Ben was very kind to us and promised to draw the paperwork up quickly and bring it to our home for mother to sign. After that, Ben took it upon himself to look in on Mother and me from time to time. We became very close and, within a year, we were married." She smiled fondly, then, as if she had just realized India was still in the room, she looked at India with a caring gaze. "We came to love each other, though it didn't happen overnight."

India nodded. Feeling bold, she questioned Mrs. McAllister further. "Did you ever worry? That Ben might care for someone else? Choose someone else over you?"

"My goodness gracious, of course I did!" Mrs. McAllister chuckled a little and patted India's knee. "I knew I wasn't the most beautiful girl in town, nor was I the youngest, by any means. I tended to be quite insecure – about my age, especially. But Ben wasn't the type of man who kept after the young girls. And the girls _did_ pursue him, and were very disappointed when he paid them no attention. I remember being very concerned about losing him to someone else before we got married. And since I told Ben everything, I told him about my fears…" Mrs. McAllister felt a tear well up in her eye, but her voice did not falter. "He said, 'Sarah, beauty is fleeting. I want a wife who is more than just a pretty face.' It was then I knew how he really felt about me, and I never questioned him again."

"That's quite a story, Mrs. McAllister," India sighed softly, "a beautiful story."

Sarah McAllister took India's hand between both of her own. "If I had known then what I know now, I wouldn't have wasted my time worrying. I would've spent every moment I had loving and being loved by my Ben. Life is short, India; and you never know what tomorrow will bring. There's no sense in spending all your time in Baton Rouge locked up in this room. Now you take a minute, calm yourself, then you come downstairs and enjoy the party. I must insist, dear."

India nodded wordlessly and watched as Mrs. McAllister left the room without looking back at her. As instructed, she straightened her clothes, patted down her hair, and made her way downstairs and toward the crowded parlor.

Sarah McAllister found her handsome son sitting on the back porch, chatting with Violet Landry. Grey relaxed in a wicker chair, his feet propped lazily on the whitewashed porch railing. Violet shoved his feet down playfully and rushed to embrace Mrs. McAllister. Sarah gave her as tight a squeeze as she could manage. "Hello Violet," she greeted her. "I'm so glad you were able to come. Have you seen Meg yet? You must let her know you're here."

"I spoke to her just a moment ago. She's going to be the most beautiful bride!"

"Well, you know her mother thinks so!" Sarah smiled at Violet and yanked teasingly on her waist-length ponytail. "Still not turning that hair up I see," Sarah commented, then she clucked her tongue and shook her head. "You know how it upsets your mother."

"I know; that's why I do it!" Violet chuckled a little and patted Sarah's shoulder. "I believe I'll go and see if Bessie saved me any of her lemonade. Excuse me, Mrs. Sarah. Grey."

"Vi." Grey grinned and gave her a nod, then rose to his feet and bowed formally toward his mother. "To what do I owe the pleasure, Mother dear?"

Sarah McAllister didn't waste any time playing along. Instead, she moved toward him hastily, a hint of panic in her voice. "Greyson, you must speak to India. She is not going to continue allowing you to string her along this way."

Grey's eyebrows furrowed. He wondered what had gotten into his usually passive mother, but didn't question her aloud. "I'm not stringing her along, Mother; I do care for India. It's true I've made her no promises, but we hardly know each other well enough to know for certain whether anything more should come of our friendship. We're both adults; that's _our_ decision to make."

Sarah huffed, "Greyson McAllister, you certainly are stubborn!"

"Not stubborn, Mother, just not willing to let anyone else make my decisions for me."

"Well, you sure are being cavalier about it all, Greyson." Her comment got no response so Sarah went on. "Come now, we both know how you feel about India. You care for her, and in more than just a friendly way."

"You don't know that, Mother."

"I _do_ know, son. Believe me, mothers have a certain intuition about these things. You care for this girl and it scares you to death. You're afraid of committing to her when you should be afraid of losing her!"

"Losing her?" Grey asked.

"Yes. She truly believes she doesn't belong in Baton Rouge. She fears you're only trifling with her."

Grey emitted a hearty chuckle. "Trifling with her? Why, that's preposterous!" He folded his arms and gazed out onto the grounds.

Sarah touched his forearm gently. "Well, she believes it. Really now, you need to speak with her, Greyson. She's considering packing up and leaving before the wedding."

"Leaving?" Grey finally looked concerned and moved toward the door of the house quickly. "I can't let her leave, not when she's only arrived. Of course I'll talk to her," he nodded. "Excuse me, Mother, I must go and find her."

Sarah McAllister smiled knowingly to herself as she watched her son rush into the house after the woman he so obviously cared for. Maybe it wasn't her place to interfere, but how could she possibly stand idly by and watch their budding courtship simply fall apart? It was her responsibility as someone who'd walked that road before to instill a little wisdom into the situation. She was certain that someday Grey would thank her for her interference.


	16. Confessions

Chapter Sixteen

_Confessions_

Grey spotted India standing alone in a corner of the foyer, her hands clasped tightly in front of her. She held her head high and wore a solemn, proud expression as she watched all the other ladies in the house buzz frantically around Meg like bees around a beehive. India was uncomfortable, he could tell, but she displayed no sign of emotion in her face whatsoever. He moved along the wall until he reached her side, and thought he saw brief evidence of relief cross her brow once India noticed him.

"I understand you're going to be leaving us," he said nonchalantly as his shoulder brushed against hers. "I was under the impression that you'd planned to stay a bit longer."

"Well," she replied without even looking at him, "things don't always work out the way we plan." Her eyes shone sadly as she watched Meg proudly display her engagement ring.

She was being a bit overdramatic, but he couldn't call her on it; not in front of all Meg's friends and acquaintances, at least. It concerned him that India trusted him so little as to assume that he had no other interest in their friendship than to simply string her along. In reality, he thought quite highly of her. He thought she understood that. "Let's go into the garden and talk." His suggestion came out sounding more gruff and forceful than he'd intended.

India halfheartedly took his arm and followed him out into his mother's beautiful garden. Butterflies hovered around a large shrub covered with purple flowers, hydrangeas of varying size and color brightened the walkway and welcomed guests. India's expression brightened, but her shoulders still slumped as if a heavy weight was attached to them. Grey directed her to a bench and seated himself beside her.

"I don't know what I've done to upset you so," he began softly, careful to choose his words wisely, "but I apologize wholeheartedly. I don't want you to feel unwelcome. I _want_ you here, India. More than anything in the world."

"Then who is _she_?" India suddenly demanded.

"I'm not sure whom you mean…" Grey began.

"The girl you embraced before. The one with the long hair."

Grey stared at her in disbelief for a moment, and then he burst into hearty laughter, his head tilted back and his face red. He laughed until his side ached, then calmed himself and looked at India, who looked more hurt and confused than before. "Goodness gracious, is that what all the fuss is about? About Violet?" India stared hard at him but did not respond. "India, Violet is one of my oldest and dearest friends! We grew up together! Why, I think of her more as a sister than anything else, I could never court her! Surely you're not jealous of Violet Landry!"

"Well, how was I to know who she was? I couldn't have known!" she exclaimed over the sound of Grey's laughter. "Don't you dare laugh at me, Greyson McAllister. It isn't the slightest bit funny!"

"Oh, I'm sorry!" he said, wiping his eyes. "I don't mean to hurt your feelings. But India, you're making assumptions about things you know nothing about; you're getting my mother all upset…why didn't you just come to me and ask me?"

"I was upset. I was worried that…oh, never mind."

"No, go on."

"No, it's nothing. It's over now, so let's just go back inside and enjoy the tea." She rose from her seat on the bench and started toward the house.

Grey caught her by the arm and rose as he did so. She turned toward him and gazed at him. "Wait, I want to know why you got so upset about Violet. You said you were worried about something. What were you worried about, India?"

"Grey, it's nothing. Please…" She tried to free herself from his grasp, but he held firm.

"No. Tell me, India."

"I was worried that she would steal you away from me, all right?" He released his grasp on her forearm but neither of them moved. "I'm sorry, Grey. I know I have no right to assume that anything would come of my visit here. But after the letter you wrote me before you left Atlanta, after your invitation to the wedding and our conversation on the porch the other night, well, I suppose I got my hopes up. I know it was wrong of me, but I got my hopes up. I believed that maybe…well, nonetheless, it was wrong of me. I apologize." She turned from him and stepped toward the house again, looking totally defeated.

"India." Grey's deep voice froze her where she stood. When his hand touched her shoulder, she spun around to face him once more. His expression was soft and kind, his teeth showed slightly beneath his mischievous, boyish grin. India suddenly felt relief wash over her as Grey took her hand and kissed it gently. "I care more about you than I've ever cared for any other girl…woman…in my life. Quite honestly, it scares me a little bit how dear you've become to me. You don't ever have to doubt my loyalty to you, India, because no one else makes me as happy as you do."

He drew her closer in a warm embrace. India rested her head on his chest and breathed in deeply, enjoying the closeness, enjoying his scent, enjoying the feeling of being cared for and protected. In Grey's arms she felt safe. She felt at peace. Grey pressed his lips against her forehead and she smiled and looked up at him gratefully. Their eyes met and, suddenly, their lips met, too. Grey kissed her passionately and India felt a new kind of warmth fill her from her toes to her head. Grey's fingertips brushed her cheek and her hands rested on his chest; she could feel his heart pounding as they kissed. As their lips parted, India gazed at him in amazement. Grey smiled at her slyly and kissed her hand again.

"I've wanted to do that ever since the night I came to dinner and found you covered in flour and potatoes," Grey smirked without releasing the embrace he held her in. They shared a quiet chuckle, and then stood there silently, blissfully in the garden for several more minutes before returning to the tea.


	17. Time Together

Chapter Seventeen

_Time Together_

"Good morning, India, dear," Mrs. McAllister beamed as India seated herself at the breakfast table.

"Good morning," India replied. She felt her face flush as she glanced across the table to where Grey was sitting. He smiled at her from behind his coffee cup. India could not resist smiling herself, as she remembered their encounter in the garden from the day before. It was the first time she'd ever been kissed, _really_ kissed by a man. She could think of nothing else. She _wanted_ to think of nothing else.

She supposed her actions would be frowned upon by her Aunt Pitty and the other ladies of Atlanta society; after all, a woman kissing a man before their engagement had been announced was not considered proper. But to India, the fact that the "old biddies" at sewing circle and bridge club would disapprove of her kissing Grey made it all the more pleasurable and exciting. It proved, to India and everyone else, that she had not become one of them.

Ashley and Beau seated themselves at the table and India immediately straightened in her seat and avoided Grey's gaze. "Good morning, Aunt India!" Beau declared. "Daddy and I are going into town today!"

"Is that so?" India replied. "That sounds nice." She smiled softly at Beau and then up at Ashley.

"Yes," Ashley expounded. His voice sounded cheerful enough, although his eyes still bore a great deal of sadness. The wound left by Melanie's death was deep; he would not soon recover from it. "We promised Aunt Pitty we would bring her a bauble from Baton Rouge. Beau is determined to find her the prettiest China cup and saucer money can buy."

"Oh, that sounds lovely," India said as she moved Beau's chair closer to the table and helped his plate and then her own with small servings of scrambled eggs and fried country ham. "Aunt Pitty will be so pleased that you remembered her."

Meg spoke up then, touching her mother's shoulder, "You will go into town with me this morning, won't you, Mother? Mrs. Franklin at the dress shop promised to have my going away dress finished by today. Oh, I can hardly wait to see it! Then I have to go by the church and see Reverend Parsons. And decide how to hang the bunting and the flowers. Oh, Mother, I simply have too much to do on my own…"

"Don't fret, Meg, darling. Of course I'll go with you!" Mrs. McAllister chuckled a bit and then smiled proudly at her daughter. "I can scarcely believe you'll soon be a married woman." She reached to her right and clasped Meg's hand for a brief moment before returning to her own breakfast. India felt a twinge of jealousy course through her as she watched mother and daughter share the moment. How her heart ached for her own mother! How she wished she had someone to talk with, to share her secrets with, someone in whom she could confide. India had been very close with her mother. In fact, she had never allowed herself to become close to anyone after her mother's death. She supposed that was why she had become so cold, she pushed everyone away. The closest she got to a true friend had been Melanie, and now she, too, was gone.

Grey's voice was a welcome interruption to her thoughts: "Well, Miss Wilkes, it appears that everyone else is spending the day in town. Perhaps we should, too? You can help me pick out a new suit of clothes. Meg tells me I must have one before the wedding…"

"Greyson!" Mrs. McAllister gasped, breathless. "You mean to say it's less than a week 'til your sister's wedding and you haven't been to the tailor's yet?"

"Well, I…I intended to, Mother, but I…"

"Oh, Grey! You'll never be able to have a suit made in time for my wedding," Meg practically sobbed.

"Now you just calm yourself, Meg," Grey said, his voice soothing and reassuring, as if he was comforting a distressed child. "I'll take care of everything. I'll see Carl Williams at the tailor shop today and I'll make sure it's ready, even if it costs me dearly. I'll be the finest brother to ever give a bride away, even if I have to go completely broke in the process!" Meg seemed satisfied with his promise. She smiled at Grey serenely and returned silently to her breakfast. Grey looked again at India. "What do you say, Miss Wilkes? You don't want to be left here all alone, do you?"

"A day in town would be lovely," India replied. She blushed and looked around at the rest of the breakfast party when she saw Grey wink at her. Thankfully, no one else seemed to notice.

* * *

The streets of Baton Rouge bustled with activity. Ladies in brightly colored dresses and fashionable hats carried parasols and pushed babies in strollers as uniformed Negroes followed them carrying shopping bags filled with their expensive purchases. Important-looking men pulled gold pocket watches from their vests to check the time. Some of the men carried briefcases, conversing as they marched to and fro along the sidewalks. Shop owners swept off their stoops and waved at passersby, and newsboys cried out eagerly, anxious to sell the headline. Baton Rouge was not, in its appearance, so different from Atlanta. But somehow, India felt more liberated. No one knew her here, her history and her problems were of no consequence to anyone. No one pitied or placated her because of her "old maid" reputation. India breathed in deeply. It felt good to be free.

India and Grey walked amongst the crowd, India's hand clasped onto Grey's strong arm. "I quite enjoyed our moment in the garden yesterday," Grey confessed as he touched India's hand with his own free hand. "In fact, I'd very much like to kiss you again, if I may."

India's stomach felt as if it was full of butterflies, their wings all aflutter. She wasn't sure what the correct response was to a man who asked to kiss her. After all, she'd never had anyone ask to kiss her before. She simply smiled, so Grey could see that his words pleased her. The pair crossed the busy street and entered the tailor shop. India watched as Grey exchanged niceties with the man at the counter, who she now knew as Carl Williams.

"And may I present Miss India Wilkes from Atlanta." Grey motioned toward her and India curtsied a little to the slender, balding man whose remaining hair was parted and combed over in an attempt to cover his exposed scalp. He nodded in her general direction before summoning Grey behind a curtain in order to obtain his measurements. India meandered around the shop for a bit, examining the suits on the two rather ragged-looking store mannequins. Grey soon emerged from behind the curtain, with Mr. Williams trailing him. "Now, Carl, you realize that my sister's wedding is in five days. I'm going to need this suit done quickly."

"And _you_ understand that I will be forced to work overtime to have the suit ready, Mr. McAllister," the man said.

"I understand completely. My procrastination works to your benefit." Grey examined the figures on the pad Mr. Williams pushed toward him and nodded. "Have the suit and your bill sent out to the house by Friday noon. I have no qualms about paying you if the workmanship is worth my money. Good day." Grey placed his wide brimmed hat back onto his head and turned to leave. India followed without a word.

She waited until they were several feet from the shop before commenting. "He doesn't seem like a very friendly fellow. Mr. Williams."

"Indeed. My team and I built his shop for him about two years ago. Williams had nothing to say until the bill came due. Then he complained that the craftsmanship wasn't up to par. Didn't want to pay the bill. I was forced to threaten legal action before he finally paid me. He's been price gouging me on every suit I've bought from him ever since."

"Why, Grey, I wouldn't pay it! I'd find myself another tailor."

"Williams is the best, even if he is the most expensive," Grey explained. "No, I'd rather just pay for the suit and be done with it. I don't like to quibble over money. Besides, in this case, it's either fight Carl Williams or fight my mother. I think we both know who would win." Grey raised an eyebrow at India. They both chuckled, sharing the knowledge that nothing would stand in the way of Mrs. Sarah McAllister when it came to Meg's wedding day.

* * *

"I know so little about you," Grey observed as the pair finished their lunch at an outdoor bistro in town. "Were you very different as a girl?"

"I suppose we all were quite different before the war," India thought aloud.

"Yes, I suppose we were," Grey responded. He seemed lost in thought for a moment before returning to reality. "Would I have liked the charmed, enchanting India Wilkes?"

India chortled a bit. "India Wilkes has never been enchanting! But I suppose I _was_ a bit of a dreamer then. I didn't realize what a charmed world I lived in then. I've been through enough pain and disappointment to become more of a realist these days."

"I admire your realism. Perhaps because I share it," Grey told her. "I stopped trying to please others a long time ago. I've decided it's time to do what makes Greyson McAllister happy."

"And what makes Greyson McAllister happy?" India inquired with a soft smile. In response, Grey placed his hand on her face, stroking her cheek with his thumb. He leaned in and gently pressed his lips to hers. India savored the kiss, she did not pull away. As the kiss ended and their faces parted, India sensed the presence of someone watching her. She looked up to find Ashley and Beau standing before her on the sidewalk. Beau had knelt to tie his shoe, but Ashley had seen. He'd seen her kissing Grey in public.

"India, dear," Ashley said, his forehead wrinkled into a grimace, "I believe it would be best if you allowed Beau and myself to accompany you back to the McAllister home this afternoon. I have an important matter to discuss with you."


	18. Going Back and Moving Forward

Chapter Eighteen

Going Back and Moving Forward

Ashley paced anxiously about the sitting room. He had waited until Beau had gone upstairs to nap before addressing his sister. "India, you know how much I care for you, how dear you are to me. That is why I feel obligated to say this to you." Ashley paused and looked down at India, who sat calmly in an armchair with her hands in her lap. If she was distressed or nervous about what was coming, she showed no sign of it. "India, I do not approve of your display of affection with Mr. McAllister. Behaving that way in a public place with a man you're neither engaged nor married to is completely inappropriate, for a woman of any age."

"Ashley, I-"

"I refuse to stand idly by and watch my sister's reputation and the Wilkes family name be tarnished by this McAllister fellow, a man you hardly know. I understand that you care for him and that's all well and good, but India, you don't know what his intentions are toward you. You might just be some temporary infatuation to him. Why, he could have trifled this way with any number of young ladies. He obviously enjoys being a bachelor; why else would he have waited so long to marry? "

"How dare you!" India shot out of her seat and met Ashley's gaze, her teeth clinched. Her sharp features appeared even more pronounced in her anger. They were almost nose to nose now. "Ashley Wilkes, how dare you? You have absolutely no right to accuse me of tarnishing the Wilkes name. Why that's the pot calling the kettle black if I've ever heard it!"

"I'm sure I don't know what you mean." Ashley took a small step backward.

India's voice became louder and louder. Ashley worried that Bessie and Martha would hear. India continued, "My actions here in Baton Rouge are of no consequence to anyone back home in Atlanta. You, on the other hand…your poor wife slaving at home to prepare for your birthday party while you were at the office with your arms around that tramp, Scarlett Butler! What right do you have to accuse me of tarnishing my family's name?"

"Now you just stop right there," Ashley said. The volume of his voice did not escalate, but his tone advised India that he meant business. He pointed his finger into India's face. "First of all, what happened that day at the lumber mill was a misunderstanding; a misunderstanding that never would have gotten so out of hand without your meddling and gossip. And it was years ago. Second, this isn't about me, or Melanie, or Scarlett. This is about you, India. When are you going to become responsible for your own actions and realize that your decisions have consequences? Your choices affect more than just you. I'm simply advising that you make wiser choices." Ashley tucked his hands into his trouser pockets, spun around and began through the foyer and up the stairs. He did not look back to see India's expression, but he did not hear her footsteps behind him. She was not coming after him.

_I'm sorry, Melly,_ Ashley thought as he fought the tears that threatened to well up in his eyes, _I know I handled that poorly. Oh, Melly, darling, how I wish you were still here with me! You had a way of smoothing every wrinkle, resolving every conflict so effortlessly. I need you, dearest. Beau needs you. Why did you have to leave us? I don't suppose I'll ever understand._

Ashley opened the door to the bedroom that he and Beau shared and walked in. He placed his hand on Beau's head and watched for a moment as the child slept. Beau was all he had left of his beloved Melanie now. He refused to let India's childish behavior ruin any chance Beau might have of becoming a respectable gentleman. He owed that to Melanie. He sighed heavily and looked up, catching a glimpse of his own reflection in the pier glass. He frowned at himself and chided himself inwardly on the way he'd handled the situation with India. Perhaps he'd been too hard on her. Perhaps his issue was less India's behavior and more his own loneliness. He didn't know how he'd ever feel happy again.

The most difficult truth to deal with was that there was no going back. As much as he dreamed of the past and longed for days gone by, the South was a different place, and he was a different man. He wished fervently that he could turn back the clock, but that dream was impossible. He sat down in the armchair beside the bed where his little boy slept, propping his elbow on the armrest and pressing his fingers to his temple. Where to go from here? How on earth could he ever live again?

* * *

India finally felt her face begin to cool as a breeze picked up. It swung Mrs. McAllister's hanging ferns back and forth until India was almost dizzy from watching them. She sat down quickly onto a white wicker chair, running her hand along the armrests and feeling the slick, white, painted surface. The back porch of the McAllister's home had become like her refuge, her hiding place. It was where she had shared several sweet moments with Grey in previous days, but now it was where she hid from Ashley.

India was unsure how she felt about her brother's words. Of course, at first she had been angry, but now…now she felt hurt, and sad, and guilty. She had spoken in anger and she had hurt Ashley; she should have never mentioned his relationship with Melanie…or Scarlett, for that matter. India realized that as hard as she'd tried to let bygones be bygones, that little hint of her old self was creeping in again, and India didn't know how to stop it. She didn't want to go back to the abrasive, petty, gossipy girl she'd once been. Her chance meeting with Grey his first morning in Atlanta had bred change in India Wilkes. Change for the better. She did not want to return to the way things had been before.

But had she been wrong to kiss Grey in public the way she did? It didn't _feel_ wrong, at least not until she realized that Ashley was watching her. After all, she was a grown woman now, and free to do as she pleased. No! She didn't believe one innocent kiss warranted Ashley's wrath. Besides, Grey had told her that day in the garden that he cared for her; she wasn't just some momentary fling for him.

India vowed that she would no longer sacrifice her happiness just to be deemed "proper" or "fitting". She would maintain her current high moral standards, she would remain respectable, but she would not allow Ashley Wilkes or Atlanta society or anyone else to stand in the way of her happiness. She didn't know Grey's intentions for her, for the two of them. But, if nothing else, she would return to Atlanta with the knowledge that she had seized her moment, a moment in which she felt truly happy. She could carry on her daily routine of caring for Beau and keeping Aunt Pittypat company with the knowledge that someone, somewhere, cared for her. She was going to live, _really_ live, for the first time in her twenty-six years.


End file.
